HOUSE  OF 
TORMENT 


GRANGER-GULL 


HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 


HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 


A  Tale  of  the  Remarkable  Adventures  of 
MR.  JOHN   COMMENDONE 

Gentleman  to  King  Philip  II  of  Spain  at  the  English  Court 


By 

C.   RANGER-GULL 

Author  of  "The  Serf,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,   MEAD   AND    COMPANY 
1911 


Published  September,  1911 


THE  QUINN  *  BODEN  CO.  PBE89 
RAMWAY,  N.  J. 


DEDICATION  TO 
DAVID    WHITELAW 

SOUVENIR    OF    A    LONG    FRIENDSHIP 

My  dear  David, 

Since  I  first  met  you,  considerably  more  than  a  decade 
ago,  in  a  little  studio  high  up  in  a  great  London  building, 
we  have  both  seen  much  water  flow  under  the  bridges  of 
our  lives. 

We  have  all  sorts  of  memories,  have  we  not? 

Late  midnights  and  famishing  morrows,  in  the  gay  hard 
days  when  we  were  endeavouring  to  climb  the  ladder 
of  our  Art;  a  succession  of  faces,  a  welter  of  experiences. 
Some  of  us  fell  in  the  struggle;  others  failed  and  still 
haunt  the  reprobate  purlieus  of  Fleet  Street  and  the 
Strand!  There  was  one  who  achieved  a  high  and  deli- 
cate glory  before  he  died — "  Tant  va  la  cruche  a  I'eau  qua 
la  fin  elle  se  casse." 

There  is  another  who  is  slowly  and  surely  finding  his 
way  to  a  certainty  of  fame. 

And  the  rest  of  us  have  done  something,  if  not — as 
yet — all  we  hoped  to  do.  At  any  rate,  the  slopes  of  the 
first  hills  lie  beneath  us.  We  are  in  good  courage  and 
resolute  for  the  mountains. 

The  mist  eddies  and  is  spiralled  below  in  the  valleys 
from  which  we  have  come,  but  already  we  are  among  the 
deep  sweet  billows  of  the  mountain  winds,  and  I  think 
it  is  because  we  have  both  found  our  "Princess  Galvas" 
that  we  have  got  this  far  upon  the  way. 

We  may  never  stand  upon  the  summit  and  find  that 
tempest  of  fire  we  call  the  Sun  full  upon  us.     But  the 
pleasure  of  going  on  is  ours  still — there  will  always  be  that. 
Ever  your  friend, 

C.  RANGER-GULL. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I     IN     THE    QUEEN'S    CLOSET  ;     THE     FOUR 

FACES i 

II     THE  HOUSE   OF  SHAME  ;   THE  LADDER  OF 

GLORY 36 

III  THE     MEETING    WITH    JOHN     HULL     AT 

CHELMSFORD 87 

IV  PART   TAKEN   IN   AFFAIRS  BY   THE   HALF 

TESTOON in 

V     THE  FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH     .         .         .   144 

VI     A     KING    AND     A     VICTIM.      Two    GRIM 

MEN         .......   169 

VII     HEY  Ho!  AND  A  RUMBELOW  !  .         .         .   191 
VIII     "WHY,  WHO  BUT  You,  JOHNNIE!"          .   226 

IX       "  MlSERICORDIA    ET    JUSTITIA  "    .  .  .    242 

X     THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK      .         .         .   274 

XI     IN  THE  Box 288 

XII     "TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM  "  ....  311 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET;  THE  FOUR  FACES 

SIR  HENRY  COMMENDONE  sat  upon  an  oak  box 
clamped  with  bands  of  iron  and  watched  his  son 
completing  his  morning  toilette. 

"  And  how  like  you  this  life  of  the  Court, 
John?  "  he  said. 

The  young  man  smoothed  out  the  feather  of 
his  tall  cone-shaped  hat.  "  Truly,  father,"  he 
answered,  "  in  respect  of  itself  it  seems  a  very 
good  life,  but  in  respect  that  it  is  far  from  the 
fields  and  home  it  is  naught.  But  I  like  it  very 
well.  And  I  think  I  am  likely  to  rise  high.  I  am 
now  attached  to  the  King  Consort,  by  the  Queen's 
pleasure.  His  Highness  has  spoken  frequently 
with  me,  and  I  have  my  commission  duly  written 
out  as  caballerizo." 

"  I  never  could  learn  Spanish,"  the  elder  man 
replied,  wagging  his  head.  "  Father  Chilches  tried 
to  teach  me  often  of  an  afternoon  when  you  were 
hawking.  What  does  the  word  mean  in  essence?  " 

"  Groom  of  the  body,  father — equerry.  It  is 
doubtless  because  I  speak  Spanish  that  it  hath 
been  given  me." 

"  Very  like,  Johnnie.  But  since  the  Queen, 
God  bless  her,  has  come  to  the  throne,  and  Eng- 


2  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

land  is  reconciled  to  Holy  Church,  thou  wert 
bound  to  get  a  post  at  Court.  They  could  not 
ignore  our  name.  I  wrote  to  the  Bishop  of 
London  myself,  he  placed  my  request  before  the 
Queen's  Grace,  and  hence  thou  art  here  and  in 
high  favour." 

The  young  man  smiled.  "  Which  I  shall  en- 
deavour to  keep,"  he  answered.  "  And  now  I 
must  soon  go  to  the  Queen's  lodging.  I  am  in 
attendance  on  King  Philip." 

"  And  I  to  horse  with  my  men  at  noon  and  so 
home  to  Kent.  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  thee, 
Johnnie,  in  thy  new  life,  though  I  do  not  love 
London  and  the  Court.  But  tell  me  of  the  Queen's 
husband.  The  neighbours  will  all  want  news  of 
him.  It's  little  enough  they  like  the  Spanish  match 
in  Kent.  Give  me  a  picture  of  him." 

"  I  have  been  at  Court  a  month,"  John  Com- 
mendone  answered,  "  and  I  have  learned  more 
than  one  good  lesson.  There  is  a  Spanish  saying 
that  runs  this  way,  '  Palabras  y  plumas  viento  las 
Heva'  (Words  and  feathers  are  carried  far  by 
the  wind).  I  will  tell  you,  father,  but  repeat 
nothing  again.  Kent  is  not  far  away,  and  I  have 
ambition." 

Sir  Henry  chuckled.  "  Prudent  lad,"  he  said; 
"  thou  art  born  to  be  about  a  palace.  I'll  say 
nothing." 

'  Well  then,  here  is  your  man,  a  pedant  and  a 
fool,  a  stickler  for  little  trifles,  a  very  child  for  de- 
tail. Her  Grace  the  Queen  and  all  the  nobles  speak 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET  3 

many  languages.  Every  man  is  learned  now.  His 
Highness  speaks  but  Spanish,  though  he  has  a  little 
French.  Never  did  I  see  a  man  with  so  small  a 
mind,  and  yet  he  thinks  he  can  see  deep  down  into 
men's  hearts  and  motives,  and  knows  all  private  and 
public  affairs." 

Sir  John  whistled.  He  plucked  at  one  of  the 
roses  of  burnt  silver  embroidered  upon  the  doublet 
of  green  tissue  he  was  wearing — the  gala  dress 
which  he  had  put  on  for  his  visit  to  Court,  a  gar- 
ment which  was  a  good  many  years  behind  the 
fashion,  but  thought  most  elegant  by  his  brother 
squires  in  Kent. 

"  So !  "  he  said,  "  then  this  match  will  prove 
as  bad  for  the  country  as  all  the  neighbours  are 
saying.  Still,  he  is  a  good  Catholic,  and  that  is 
something." 

John  nodded  carelessly.  "  More  so,"  he  replied, 
"  than  is  thought  becoming  to  his  rank  and  age  by 
many  good  Catholics  about  the  Court.  He  is  as 
regular  at  mass,  sermons,  and  vespers  as  a  monk — 
hath  a  leash  of  friars  to  preach  for  his  instruction, 
and  disputes  in  theology  with  others  half  the  night 
till  Her  Grace  hath  to  send  one  of  her  gentlemen 
to  bid  him  come  to  bed." 

"  Early  days  for  that,"  said  the  Kentish  gentle- 
man, "  though,  in  faith,  the  Queen  is  thirty-eight 
and- 

John  started.  "  Whist !  "  he  said.  "  I'm  set- 
ting you  an  evil  example,  sir.  Long  ears  abound 
in  the  Tower.  I'll  say  no  more." 


4  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  I'm  mum,  Johnnie,"  Sir  Henry  replied.  "  I'll 
break  in  upon  thee  no  more.  Get  on  with  thy  tale." 
;  'Tis  a  bargain  then,  sir,  and  repeat  nothing  I 
tell  you.  I  was  saying  about  His  Highness's  re- 
ligion. He  consults  Don  Diego  Deza,  a  Dominican 
who  is  his  confessor,  most  minutely  as  to  all  the 
actions  of  life,  inquiring  most  anxiously  if  this  or 
that  were  likely  to  burden  his  conscience.  And 
yet — though  Her  Grace  suspects  nothing — he  is  of  a 
very  gross  and  licentious  temper.  He  hath  issued 
forth  at  night  into  the  city,  disguised,  and  indulged 
himself  in  the  common  haunts  of  vice.  I  much 
fear  me  that  he  will  command  me  to  go  with  him 
on  some  such  expedition,  for  he  begins  to  notice 
me  more  than  any  others  of  the  English  gentlemen 
in  his  company,  and  to  talk  with  me  in  the  Spanish 
tongue.  ..." 

The  elder  man  laughed  tolerantly. 

"  Every  man  to  his  taste,"  he  said;  "  and  look 
you,  Johnnie,  a  prince  is  wedded  for  state  reasons, 
and  not  for  love.  The  ox  hath  his  bow,  the  faulcon 
his  bells,  and  as  pigeon's  bill  man  hath  his  desire 
and  would  be  nibbling!  " 

John  Commendone  drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
slim  height  and  made  a  motion  of  disgust. 

"  'Tis  not  my  way,"  he  said.  "  Bachelor,  I  hunt 
no  fardingales,  nor  would  I  do  so  wedded." 

"  God  'ild  you,  Johnnie.  Hast  ever  taken  a 
clean  and  commendable  view  of  life,  and  I  love  thee 
for  it.  But  have  charity,  get  you  charity  as  you 
grow  older.  His  Highness  is  narrow,  you  tell  me; 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET  5 

be  not  so  yourself.  Thou  art  not  a  little  pot  and 
soon  hot,  but  I  think  thou  wilt  find  a  fire  that  will 
thaw  thee  at  Court.  A  young  man  must  get  experi- 
ence. I  would  not  have  thee  get  through  the  streets 
with  a  bragging  look  nor  frequent  the  stews  of 
town.  But  young  blood  must  have  its  May-day. 
Whilst  can,  have  thy  May-day,  Johnnie.  Have 
thy  door  shadowed  with  green  birches,  long  fennel, 
St.  John's  wort,  orphine,  and  white  lilies.  Wilt  not 
be  always  young.  But  I  babble;  tell  me  more  of 
King  Philip." 

The  tall  youth  had  stood  silent  while  his  father 
spoke,  his  grave,  oval  face  set  in  courteous  atten- 
tion. It  was  a  coarse  age.  Henry  the  Eighth  was 
not  long  dead,  and  the  scandals  of  his  court  and 
life  influenced  all  private  conduct.  That  Queen 
Mary  was  rigid  in  her  morals  went  for  very  little. 
The  Lady  Elizabeth,  still  a  young  girl,  was  already 
committing  herself  to  a  course  of  life  which — 
despite  the  historians  of  the  popular  textbooks — 
made  her  court  in  after  years  as  licentious  as  ever 
her  father's  had  been.  Old  Sir  Henry  spoke  after 
his  kind,  and  few  young  men  in  1555  were  so 
fastidious  as  John  Commendone. 

He  welcomed  the  change  in  conversation.  To 
hear  his  father — whom  he  dearly  loved — speak 
thus,  was  most  distasteful  to  him. 

"  His  Highness  is  a  glutton  for  work,"  the  young 
man  went  on.  "  I  see  him  daily,  and  he  is  ever 
busy  with  his  pen.  He  hateth  to  converse  upon 
affairs  of  state,  but  will  write  a  letter  eighteen 


6  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

pages  long  when  his  correspondent  is  in  the  next 
room,  howbeit  the  subject  is  one  which  a  man  of 
sense  would  settle  in  six  words  of  the  tongue.  In- 
deed, sir,  he  is  truly  of  opinion  that  the  world  is 
to  move  upon  protocols  and  apostilles.  Events 
must  not  be  born  without  a  preparatory  course  of 
his  obstetrical  pedantry !  Never  will  he  learn  that 
the  world  will  not  rest  on  its  axis  while  he  writeth 
directions  of  the  way  it  is  to  turn." 

Sir  Henry  shook  himself  like  a  dog. 

"  And  the  Queen  mad  for  such  a  husband  as 
this!  "  he  said. 

"  Aye,  worships  him  as  it  were  a  saint  in  a  niche. 
A  skilled  lutanist  with  a  touch  on  the  strings  re- 
markable for  its  science,  speaking  many  languages 
with  fluency  and  grace,  Latin  in  especial,  Her  Grace 
yet  thinks  His  Highness  a  great  statesman  and  of 
a  polished  easy  wit." 

"  How  blind  is  love,  Johnnie !  blinder  still  when 
it  cometh  late.  A  cap  out  of  fashion  and  ill-worn. 
'Tis  like  one  of  your  French  withered  pears.  It 
looks  ill  and  eats  dryly." 

"  I  was  in  the  Queen's  closet  two  days  gone,  in 
waiting  on  His  Highness.  A  letter  had  come  from 
Paris,  narrating  how  a  member  of  the  Spanish 
envoy's  suit  to  that  court  had  been  assassinated. 
The  letter  ran  that  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
killed  was  that  a  Jacobin  monk  had  given  him  a 
pistol-shot  in  the  head — '  la  facon  que  Von  dit  qu'il 
a  ette  tue,  sa  ette  par  un  Jacobin  qul  luy  a  donne 
d'un  cou  de  pistolle  dans  la  tayteJ  His  Highness 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET  •          7 

took  up  his  pen  and  scrawled  with  it  upon  the 
margin.  He  drew  a  line  under  one  word  '  pistolle  ' ; 
'this  is  perhaps  some  kind  of  knife,'  quoth  he; 
4  and  as  for  "  tayte,"  it  can  be  nothing  else  but 
head,  which  is  not  tayte,  but  tete  or  teyte,  as  you 
very  well  know.'  And,  father,  the  Queen  was  all 
smiles  and  much  pleased  with  this  wonderful  com- 
mentary !  " 

Sir  Henry  rose. 

"  I  will  hear  no  more,"  he  said.  "  It  is  time  I 
went.  You  have  given  me  much  food  for  thought. 
Fare  thee  well,  Johnnie.  Write  me  letters  with  thy 
doings  when  thou  canst.  God  bless  thee." 

The  two  men  stood  side  by  side,  looking  at  each 
other  in  silence,  one  hale  and  hearty  still,  but  with 
his  life  drawing  to  its  close,  the  other  in  the  first 
flush  of  early  manhood,  entering  upon  a  career 
which  promised  a  most  brilliant  future,  with  every 
natural  and  material  advantage,  either  his  already, 
or  at  hand. 

They  were  like  and  yet  unlike. 

The  father  was  big,  burly,  iron-grey  of  head 
and  beard,  with  hooked  nose  and  firm  though  simple 
eyes  under  thick,  shaggy  brows. 

John  was  of  his  father's  height,  close  on  six 
feet.  He  was  slim,  but  with  the  leanness  of  per- 
fect training  and  condition.  Supple  as  an  eel,  with 
a  marked  grace  of  carriage  and  bearing,  he  never- 
theless suggested  enormous  physical  strength.  The 
face  was  a  pure  oval  with  an  olive  tinge  in  the  skin, 
the  nose  hooked  like  his  sire's,  the  lips  curved  into 


8  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

a  bow,  but  with  a  singular  graveness  and  strength 
overlying  and  informing  their  delicacy.  The  eyes, 
of  a  dark  brown,  were  inscrutable.  Steadfast  in 
regard,  with  a  hint  of  cynicism  and  mockery  in 
them,  they  were  at  the  same  time  instinct  with  alert- 
ness and  a  certain  watchfulness.  He  seemed,  as 
he  stood  in  his  little  room  in  the  old  palace  of  the 
Tower,  a  singularly  handsome,  clever,  and  capable 
young  man,  but  a  man  with  reservations,  with 
secrets  of  character  which  no  one  could  plumb  or 
divine. 

He  was  the  only  son  of  Sir  Henry  Commendohe 
and  a  Spanish  lady  of  high  birth  who  had  come 
to  England  in  1512  to  take  a  position  in  the  suite 
of  Catherine  of  Arragon,  three  years  after  her 
marriage  to  Henry  VIII.  During  the  early  part 
of  Henry's  reign  Sir  Henry  Commendone  was  much 
at  Windsor  and  a  personal  friend  of  the  King. 
Those  were  days  of  great  brilliancy.  The  King  was 
young,  courteous,  and  affable.  His  person  was 
handsome,  he  was  continually  engaged  in  martial 
exercises  and  all  forms  of  field  sports.  Sir  Henry 
was  one  of  the  band  of  gay  youths  who  tilted  and 
hawked  or  hunted  in  the  Great  Park.  He  fell  in 
love  with  the  beautiful  young  Juanita  de  Senabria, 
married  her  with  the  consent  and  approbation  of 
the  King  and  Queen,  and  immediately  retired  to  his 
manors  in  Kent.  From  that  time  forward  he  took 
absolutely  no  part  in  politics  or  court  affairs.  He 
lived  the  life  of  a  country  squire  of  his  day  in 
serene  health  and  happiness.  His  wife  died  when 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET  9 

John — the  only  issue  of  the  marriage — was  six  years 
old,  and  the  boy  was  educated  by  Father  Chilches,  a 
placid  and  easy-going  Spanish  priest,  who  acted  as 
domestic  chaplain  at  Commendone.  This  man, 
loving  ease  and  quiet,  was  nevertheless  a  scholar 
and  a  gentleman.  He  had  been  at  the  court  of 
Charles  V,  and  was  an  ideal  tutor  for  Johnnie. 
His  religion,  though  sincere,  sat  easily  upon  him. 
The  Divorce  from  Rome  did  not  draw  him  from 
his  calm  retreat,  the  oath  enforcing  the  King's 
supremacy  had  no  terrors  for  him,  and  he  died  at  a 
good  old  age  in  1548,  during  the  protectorate  of 
Somerset. 

From  this  man  Johnnie  had  learnt  to  speak 
Spanish,  Italian,  and  French.  Naturally  quick  and 
intelligent,  he  had  added  something  of  his  mother's 
foreign  grace  and  self-possession  to  the  teachings 
and  worldly-wisdom  of  Don  Chilches,  while  his 
father  had  delighted  to  train  him  in  all  manly 
exercises,  than  whom  none  was  more  fitted  to  do. 

Sir  Henry  became  rich  as  the  years  went  on,  but 
lived  always  as  a  simple  squire.  Most  of  his  land 
was  pasturage,  then  far  more  profitable  than  the 
growing  of  corn.  Tillage,  with  no  knowledge  of 
the  rotation  of  crops,  no  turnip  industry  to  fatten 
sheep,  miserable  appliances  and  entire  ignorance  of 
manures,  afforded  no  interest  on  capital.  But  the 
export  of  wool  and  broadcloth  was  highly  profit- 
able, and  Sir  Henry's  wool  was  paid  for  in  good 
double  ryals  by  the  manufacturers  and  merchants 
of  the  great  towns. 


io  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

John  Commendone  entered  upon  his  career, 
therefore,  with  plenty  of  money — far  more  than 
any  one  suspected — a  handsome  person,  thoroughly 
accomplished  in  all  that  was  necessary  for  a  gentle- 
man of  that  day. 

In  addition,  his  education  was  better  than  the 
general,  he  was  without  vices,  and,  in  the  present 
reign,  the  consistent  Catholicity  of  his  house  recom- 
mended him  most  strongly  to  the  Queen  and  her 
advisers. 

"  So  God  'ild  ye,  Johnnie.  Come  not  down  the 
stairs  with  me.  Let  us  make  farewell  here  and  now. 
I  go  to  the  Constable's  to  leave  my  duty,  and  then 
to  take  a  stirrup-cup  with  the  Lieutenant.  My 
serving-men  and  horses  are  waiting  at  the  south  of 
White  Tower  at  Coal  Harbour  Gate.  Farewell." 

The  old  man  put  his  arms  in  their  out-moded 
bravery  round  his  son  and  kissed  him  on  both 
cheeks.  He  hugged  like  a  bear,  and  his  beard  was 
wiry  and  strong  against  the  smooth  cheeks  of  his 
son.  Then  coughing  a  little,  he  almost  imper- 
ceptibly made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and,  turning, 
clanked  away,  his  sword  ringing  on  the  stone  floor 
and  his  spurs — for  he  wore  riding-boots  of  Span- 
ish leather — clicking  in  unison. 

John  was  left  alone. 

He  sat  down  upon  the  low  wooden  bed  and  gazed 
at  the  chest  where  the  knight  had  been  sitting. 
The  little  room,  with  its  single  window  looking  out 
upon  the  back  offices  of  the  palace,  seemed  strangely 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          n 

empty,  momentarily  forlorn.  Johnnie  sighed.  He 
thought  of  the  woods  of  Commendone,  of  the  old 
Tudor  house  with  its  masses  of  chimneys  and  deep- 
mullioned  windows — of  all  that  home-life  so  warm 
and  pleasant;  dawn  in  the  park  with  the  deer  crop- 
ping wet,  silver  grass,  the  whistle  of  the  wild  duck 
as  they  flew  over  the  lake,  the  garden  of  rosemary, 
St.  John's  wort,  and  French  lavender,  which  had 
been  his  mother's. 

Then,  stifling  a  sigh,  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
buckled  on  his  sword — the  fashionable  "  whiffle  "- 
shaped  weapon  with  globular  pommel  and  the 
quillons  of  the  guard  ornamented  in  gold — and 
gave  a  glance  at  a  little  mirror  hung  upon  the  wall. 
By  no  means  vain,  he  had  a  very  careful  taste  in 
dress,  and  was  already  considered  something  of  a 
dandy  by  the  young  men  of  his  set. 

He  wore  a  doublet  of  black  satin,  slashed  with 
cloth  of  silver;  and  black  velvet  trunks  trussed  and 
tagged  with  the  same.  His  short  cloak  was  of  cloth 
of  silver  lined  with  blue  velvet  pounced  with  his 
cypher,  and  it  fell  behind  him  from  his  left 
shoulder. 

He  smoothed  his  small  black  moustache — for  he 
wore  no  beard — set  his  ruff  of  two  pleats  in  order, 
and  stepped  gaily  out  of  his  room  into  a  long 
panelled  corridor,  a  very  proper  young  man,  taut, 
trim,  and  point  device. 

There  were  doors  on  each  side  of  the  corridor, 
some  closed,  some  ajar.  A  couple  of  serving-men 
were  hastening  along  it  with  ewers  of  water  and 


12  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

towels.  There  was  a  hum  and  stir  down  the  whole 
length  of  the  place  as  the  younger  gentlemen  of 
the  Court  made  their  toilettes. 

From  one  door  a  high  sweet  tenor  voice  shivered 
out  in  song — 

"  Filz  de  Venus,  voz  deux  yeux  desbendez 
Et  mes  ecrits  lisez  et  entendez  ..." 

"  That's  Mr.  Ambrose  Cholmondely,"  Johnnie 
nodded  to  himself.  "  He  has  a  sweet  voice.  He 
sang  in  the  sextette  with  Lady  Bedingfield  and 
Lady  Paget  last  night.  A  sweet  voice,  but  a  fool ! 
Any  girl — or  dame  either  for  that  matter — can  do 
what  she  likes  with  him.  He  travels  fastest  who 
travels  alone.  Master  Ambrose  will  not  go  far, 
pardieu,  nor  travel  fast !  " 

He  came  to  the  stair-head — it  was  a  narrow, 
open  stairway  leading  into  a  small  hall,  also 
panelled.  On  the  right  of  the  hall  was  a  wide,  open 
door,  through  which  he  turned  and  entered  the 
common-room  of  the  gentlemen  who  were  lodged 
in  this  wing  of  the  palace. 

The  place  was  very  like  the  senior  common-room 
of  one  of  the  more  ancient  Oxford  colleges,  wain- 
scoted in  oak,  and  with  large  mullioned  win- 
dows on  the  side  opposite  to  a  high  carved  fire- 
place. 

A  long  table  ran  down  the  centre,  capable  of 
seating  thirty  or  forty  people,  and  at  one  end  was 
a  beaufet  or  side-board  with  an  almost  astonishing 
array  of  silver  plate,  which  reflected  the  sunlight 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          13 

that  was  pouring  into  the  big,  pleasant  room  in  a 
thousand  twinkling  points  of  light. 

It  was  an  age  of  silver.  The  secretary  to  Fran- 
cesco Capella,  the  Venetian  Ambassador  to  London, 
writes  of  the  period:  "  There  is  no  small  innkeeper, 
however  poor  and  humble  he  may  be,  who  does  not 
serve  his  table  with  silver  dishes  and  drinking  cups ; 
and  no  one  who  has  not  in  his  house  silver  plate 
to  the  amount  of  at  least  £100  sterling  is  considered 
by  the  English  to  be  a  person  of  any  consequence. 
The  most  remarkable  thing  in  London  is  the  quan- 
tity of  wrought  silver." 

The  gentlemen  about  the  Queen  and  the  King 
Consort  had  their  own  private  silver,  which  was 
kept  in  this  their  common  messroom,  and  was  also 
supplemented  from  the  Household  stores. 

Johnnie  sat  down  at  the  table  and  looked  round. 
At  the  moment,  save  for  two  serving-men  and  the 
pantler,  he  was  alone.  Before  him  was  the  silver 
plate  and  goblet  he  had  brought  from  Com- 
mendone,  stamped  with  his  crest  and  motto, 
11  Sapere  aude  et  tace."  He  was  hungry,  and  his 
eye  fell  upon  a  dish  of  perch  in  foyle,  one  of  the 
many  good  things  upon  the  table. 

The  pantler  hastened  up. 

'  The  carpes  of  venison  are  very  good  this  morn- 
ing, sir,"  he  said  confidentially,  while  one  serving- 
man  brought  a  great  piece  of  manchet  bread  and 
another  filled  Johnnie's  flagon  with  ale. 

"  I'll  try  some,"  he  answered,  and  fell  to  with  a 
good  appetite. 


i4  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Various  young  men  strolled  in  and  stood  about, 
talking  and  jesting  or  whispering  news  of  the 
Court,  calling  each  other  by  familiar  nicknames, 
singing  and  whistling,  examining  a  new  sword, 
cursing  the  amount  of  their  tailors'  bills — as  young 
men  have  done  and  will  do  from  the  dawn  of 
civilisation  to  the  end. 

John  finished  his  breakfast,  crossed  himself  for 
grace,  and,  exchanging  a  remark  or  two  here  and 
there,  went  out  of  the  room  and  into  the  morning 
sunshine  which  bathed  the  old  palace  of  the  Tower 
in  splendour. 

How  fresh  the  morning  air  was!  how  brilliant 
the  scene  before  him ! 

To  his  right  was  the  Coal  Harbour  Gate  and 
the  huge  White  Tower.  Two  Royal  standards 
shook  out  in  the  breeze,  the  Leopards  of  England 
and  blazoned  heraldry  of  Spain,  with  its  tower  of 
gold  upon  red  for  Castile,  the  red  and  yellow  bars 
of  Arragon,  the  red  and  white  checkers  of  Bur- 
gundy, and  the  spread-eagle  sable  of  Sicily. 

To  the  left  was  that  vast  range  of  halls  and  gal- 
leries and  gardens  which  was  the  old  palace,  now 
utterly  swept  away  for  ever.  The  magnificent  pile 
of  brick  and  timber  known  as  the  Queen's  gallery, 
which  was  the  actual  Royal  lodging,  was  alive  and 
astir  with  movement.  Halberdiers  of  the  guard 
were  stationed  at  regular  distances  upon  the  low 
stone  terrace  of  the  facade,  groups  of  officers  went 
in  and  out  of  the  doors,  already  some  ladies  were 
walking  in  the  privy  garden  among  the  parterres 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          15 

of  flowers,  brilliant  as  a  window  of  stained  glass. 
The  gilding  and  painted  blazonry  on  the  great  hall 
built  by  Henry  III  glowed  like  huge  jewels. 

On  the  gravel  sweep  before  the  palace  grooms 
and  men-at-arms  were  holding  richly  caparisoned 
horses,  and  people  were  continually  coming  up 
and  riding  away,  their  places  to  be  filled  by  new 
arrivals. 

It  is  almost  impossible,  in  our  day,  to  do  more 
than  faintly  imagine  a  scene  so  splendid  and  so 
debonair.  The  clear  summer  sky,  its  crushed 
sapphire  unveiled  by  smoke,  the  mass  of  roofs,  flat, 
turreted,  embattled — some  with  stacks  of  warm, 
red  chimneys  splashed  with  the  jade  green  of  ivy — 
the  cupulars  and  tall  clock  towers,  the  crocketed 
pinnacles  and  fantastic  timbered  gables,  made  a 
whole  of  extraordinary  beauty. 

Dozens  of  great  gilt  vanes  rose  up  into  the  still, 
bright  air,  the  gold  seeming  as  if  it  were  cunningly 
inlaid  upon  the  curve  of  a  blue  bowl. 

The  pigeons  cooed  softly  to  each  other,  the  jack- 
daws wheeled  and  chuckled  round  the  dizzy  heights 
of  the  White  Tower,  there  was  a  sweet  scent  of 
wood  smoke  and  flowers  borne  upon  the  cool 
breezes  from  the  Thames. 

The  clocks  beat  out  the  hour  of  noon,  there  was 
the  boom  of  a  gun  and  a  white  puff  of  smoke  from 
the  Constable  Tower,  a  gay  fanfaronade  of  trum- 
pets shivered  out,  piercingly  sweet  and  triumphant, 
a  distant  bell  began  to  toll  somewhere  over  by  St. 
John's  Chapel. 


16  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

John  Commendone  entered  the  great  central 
door  of  the  Queen's  gallery. 

He  passed  the  guard  of  halberdiers  that  stood 
at  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase,  exchanging  good 
mornings  with  Mr.  Champneys,  who  was  in  com- 
mand, and  went  upwards  to  the  gallery,  which  was 
crowded  with  people.  Officers  of  the  Queen's 
archers,  dressed  in  scarlet  and  black  velvet,  with  a 
rose  and  imperial  crown  woven  in  gold  upon  their 
doublets,  chatted  with  permanent  officials  of  the 
household.  There  was  a  considerable  sprinkling 
of  clergy,  and  at  one  end  of  the  gallery,  nearest  to 
the  door  of  the  Ante-room,  was  a  little  knot  of  Do- 
minican monks,  dark  and  somewhat  saturnine  fig- 
ures, who  whispered  to  each  other  in  liquid  Spanish. 
John  went  straight  to  the  Ante-room  entrance, 
which  was  screened  by  heavy  curtains  of  tapestry. 
He  spoke  a  word  to  the  officer  guarding  it  with  a 
drawn  sword,  and  was  immediately  admitted  to  a 
long  room  hung  with  pictures  and  lit  by  large  win- 
dows all  along  one  side  of  its  length. 

Here  were  more  soldiers  and  several  gentlemen 
ushers  with  white  wands  in  their  hands.  One  of 
them  had  a  list  of  names  upon  a  slip  of  parchment, 
which  he  was  checking  with  a  pen.  He  looked  up 
as  John  came  in. 

"  Give  you  good  day,  Mr.  Commendone,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  you  here  upon  this  paper.  His 
Highness  is  with  the  Queen  in  her  closet,  and  you 
are  to  be  in  waiting.  Lord  Paget  has  just  had 
audience,  and  the  Bishop  of  London  is  to  come." 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          17 

He  lowered  his  voice,  speaking  confidentially. 
"  Things  are  coming  to  a  head,"  he  said.  "  I 
doubt  me  but  that  there  will  be  some  savage  doings 
anon.  Now,  Mr.  Commendone,  I  wish  you  very 
well.  You  are  certainly  marked  out  for  high 
preferment.  Your  cake  is  dough  on  both  sides. 
See  you  keep  it.  And,  above  all,  give  talking  a 
lullaby." 

John  nodded.  He  saw  that  the  other  knew 
something.  He  waited  to  hear  more. 

"  You  have  been  observed,  Mr.  Commendone," 
the  other  went  on,  his  pointed  grey  beard  rustling 
on  his  ruff  with  a  sound  as  of  whispering  leaves, 
and  hardly  louder  than  the  voice  in  which  he 
spoke.  "  You  have  had  those  watching  you  as  to 
your  demeanours  and  deportments  whom  you  did 
not  think.  And  you  have  been  very  well  reported 
of.  The  King  likes  you  and  Her  Grace  also.  They 
have  spoken  of  you,  and  you  are  to  be  advanced. 
And  if,  as  I  very  well  think,  you  will  be  made  privy 
to  affairs  of  state  and  policy,  pr'ythee  remember 
that  I  am  always  at  your  service,  and  love  you  very 
well." 

He  took  his  watch  from  his  doublet.  "  It  is 
time  you  were  announced,"  he  said,  and  turning, 
opened  a  door  opposite  the  tapestry-hung  portal 
through  which  Johnnie  had  entered. 

"  Mr.  Commendone,"  he  said,  "  His  Highness's 
gentleman." 

An  officer  within  called  the  name  down  a  short 
passage  to  a  captain  who  stood  in  front  of  the 


1 8  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

door  of  the  closet.  There  was  a  knock,  a  murmur 
of  voices,  and  John  was  beckoned  to  proceed. 

He  felt  unusually  excited,  though  at  the  same 
time  quite  cool.  Old  Sir  James  Clinton  at  the  door 
had  not  spoken  for  nothing.  Certainly  his  pros- 
pects were  bright.  ...  In  another  moment  he 
had  entered  the  Queen's  room  and  was  kneeling 
upon  one  knee  as  the  door  closed  behind  him. 

The  room  was  large  and  cheerful.  It  was 
panelled  throughout,  and  the  wainscoting  had  been 
painted  a  dull  purple  or  liver-colour,  with  the 
panel-beadings  picked  out  in  gold.  The  roof  was 
of  stone,  and  waggon-headed  with  Welsh  groins — 
that  is  to  say,  groins  which  cut  into  the  main  arch 
below  the  apex.  Two  long  Venice  mirrors  hung  on 
one  wall,  and  over  the  fire-place  was  a  crucifix  of 
ivory. 

In  the  centre  of  the  place  was  a  large  octagonal 
table  covered  with  papers,  and  a  massive  silver 
ink-holder. 

Seated  at  the  table,  very  busy  with  a  mass  of 
documents,  was  King  Philip  II  of  Spain.  Don 
Diego  Deza,  his  confessor  and  private  chaplain, 
stood  by  the  side  of  the  King's  chair. 

Seated  at  another  and  smaller  table  in  a  window 
embrasure  Queen  Mary  was  bending  over  a  large 
flat  book.  It  was  open  at  an  illuminated  page, 
and  the  sunlight  fell  upon  the  gold  and  vermilion, 
the  rouge-de-fer  and  powder-blue,  so  that  it 
gleamed  like  a  little  parterre  of  jewels. 

It  was  the  second  time  that  John  Commendone 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          19 

had  been  admitted  to  the  Privy  Closet.  He  had 
been  in  waiting  at  supper,  the  Queen  had  spoken 
to  him  once  or  twice;  he  was  often  in  the  King 
Consort's  lodging,  and  was  already  a  favourite 
among  the  members  of  the  Spanish  suite.  But  this 
was  quite  different.  He  knew  it  at  once.  He 
realised  immediately  that  he  was  here — present  at 
this  "  domestic  interior,"  so  to  speak,  for  some  im- 
portant purpose.  Had  he  known  the  expressive 
idiom  of  our  day,  he  would  have  said  to  himself, 
"  I  have  arrived!  " 

Philip  looked  up.  His  small,  intensely  serious 
eyes  gave  a  gleam  of  recognition. 

"  Buenos  dias,  sefior,"  he  said. 

John  bowed  very  low. 

Suddenly  the  room  was  filled  with  a  harsh  and 
hoarse  volume  of  sound,  a  great  booming,  resonant 
voice,  like  the  voice  of  a  strong,  rough  man. 

It  came  from  the  Queen. 

"  Mr.  Commendone,  come  you  here.  His 
Highness  hath  work  to  do.  Art  a  lutanist,  Lady 
Paget  tells  me,  then  look  at  this  new  book  of  tab- 
lature  with  the  voice  part  very  well  writ  and  the 
painting  of  the  initial  most  skilfully  done." 

The  young  man  advanced  to  the  Queen.  She 
held  out  her  left  hand,  a  little  shrivelled  hand,  for 
him  to  kiss.  He  did  so,  and  then,  rising,  bent 
over  the  wonderfully  illuminated  music  book. 

The  six  horizontal  lines  of  the  lute  notation, 
each  named  after  a  corresponding  note  of  the 
instrument,  were  drawn  in  scarlet.  The  Arabic 


20  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

numerals  which  indicated  the  frets  to  be  used  in 
producing  the  notes  were  black  and  orange,  the 
initial  H  was  a  wealth  of  flat  heraldic  colour. 

"  H  Is  golden  locks  time  hath  to  filuer  turnde" 

the  Queen  read  out  in  her  great  masculine  voice, — 
a  little  subdued  now,  but  still  fierce  and  strong, 
like  the  purring  of  a  panther.  "  What  think  you  of 
my  new  book  of  songs,  Mr.  Commendone?" 

"  A  beautiful  book,  Madam,  and  fit  for  Your 
Grace's  skill,  who  hath  no  rival  with  the  lute." 

'Tis  kind  of  you  to  say  so,  Mr.  Commendone, 
but  you  over  compliment  me." 

She  bent  her  brows  together,  lost  in  serious 
thought  for  a  moment,  and  drummed  with  lean 
fingers  upon  the  table. 

Suddenly  she  looked  up  and  her  face  cleared. 

"  I  can  say  truly,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  am 
a  very  skilled  player.  For  a  woman  I  can  fairly 
put  myself  in  the  first  rank.  But  I  have  met 
others  surpassing  me  greatly." 

She  had  thought  it  out  with  perfect  fairness, 
with  an  almost  pedantic  precision.  Woman-like, 
she  was  pleased  with  what  the  young  courtier  had 
said,  but  she  weighed  truth  in  grains  and  scruples 
— tithe  of  mint  and  cummin,  the  very  word  and 
article  of  bald  fact;  always  her  way. 

"  And  here,  Mr.  Commendone,"  she  continued, 
"  is  my  new  virginal.  It  hath  come  from  Firenze, 
and  was  made  by  Nicolo  Pedrini  himself.  My 
Lord  Mayor  begged  Our  acceptance  of  it." 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          21 

The  virginal  was  a  fine  instrument — spinet  it 
came  to  be  called  in  Elizabeth's  reign,  from  the 
spines  or  crow-quills  which  were  attached  to  the 
"  jacks  "  and  plucked  at  the  strings. 

The  case  was  made  of  cypress  wood,  inlaid  with 
whorls  of  thin  silver  and  enamels  of  various 
colours. 

"  We  were  pleased  at  the  Lord  Mayor's  cour- 
tesy," the  Queen  concluded,  and  the  change  in 
pronoun  showed  John  that  the  interview  was  over 
in  its  personal  sense,  and  that  he  had  been  very 
highly  honoured. 

He  bowed,  with  a  murmur  of  assent,  and  drew 
aside  to  the  wall  of  the  room,  waiting  easily  there, 
a  fresh  and  gallant  figure,  for  any  further  com- 
mands. 

Nor  did  it  escape  him  that  the  Queen  had  given 
him  a  look  of  prim,  but  quite  marked  approval — 
as  an  old  maid  may  look  upon  a  handsome  and 
well-mannered  boy. 

The  Queen  pressed  down  the  levers  of  the  spinet 
once  or  twice,  and  the  thin,  sweet  chords  like  the 
ghost  of  a  harp  rang  out  into  the  room. 

John  watched  her  from  the  wall. 

The  divine  right  of  monarchs  was  a  doctrine 
very  firmly  implanted  in  his  mind  by  his  upbring- 
ing and  the  time  in  which  he  lived.  The  absolutism 
of  Henry  VIII  had  had  an  extraordinary  influence 
on  public  thought. 

To  a  man  such  as  John  Commendone  the  mon- 
arch of  England  was  rather  more  than  human. 


22  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

At  the  same  time  his  cool  and  clever  brain  was 
busily  at  work,  drinking  in  details,  criticising,  ap- 
praising, wondering. 

The  Queen  wore  a  robe  of  claret-coloured  velvet, 
fringed  with  gold  thread  and  furred  with  pow- 
dered ermine.  Over  her  rather  thin  hair,  already 
turning  very  grey,  she  wore  the  simple  caul  of  the 
period,  a  head-dress  which  was  half  bonnet,  half 
skull-cap,  made  of  cloth  of  tinsel  set  with  pearls. 

Small,  lean,  sickly,  painfully  near-sighted,  yet 
with  an  eye  full  of  fierceness  and  fire — your  true 
Tudor-tiger  eye — she  was  yet  singularly  feminine. 
As  she  sat  there,  her  face  wrinkled  by  care  and  evil 
passions  even  more  than  by  time,  touching  the  keys 
of  her  spinet,  picking  up  a  piece  of  embroidery,  and 
frequently  glancing  at  her  husband  with  quick, 
hungry  looks  of  fretful  and  even  suspicious  affec- 
tion, she  was  far  more  woman  than  queen. 

The  great  booming  voice  which  terrified  strong 
men,  coming  from  this  frail  and  sinister  figure,  was 
silent  now.  There  was  pathos  even  in  her  attitude. 
A  submissive  wife  of  Philip  with  her  woman's 
gear. 

The  King  of  Spain  went  on  writing,  coldly, 
carefully,  and  with  concentrated  attention,  and 
John's  eyes  fell  upon  him  also,  his  new  master,  the 
most  powerful  man  in  the  world  of  that  day.  King 
of  Spain,  Naples,  Sicily,  Duke  of  Milan,  Lord  of 
Tranche  Comte  and  the  Netherlands,  Ruler  of 
Tunis  and  the  Barbary  coast,  the  Canaries,  Cape 
de  Verd  Islands,  Philippines  and  Spice  Islands,  the 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          23 

huge  West  Indian  colonies,  and  the  vast  territories 
of  Mexico  and  Peru — an  almost  unthinkable  power 
was  in  the  hands  of  this  man. 

As  it  all  came  to  him,  Johnnie  shuddered  for  a 
moment.  His  nerves  were  tense,  his  imagination 
at  work,  it  seemed  difficult  to  breathe  the  same  air 
as  these  two  super-normal  beings  in  the  still,  warm 
chamber. 

From  outside  came  the  snarling  of  trumpets,  the 
stir  and  noise  of  soldiery — here,  warm  silence,  the 
scratching  of  a  pen  upon  parchment,  the  echo  of 
a  voice  which  rolled  like  a  kettle-drum.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  the  King  laid  down  his  pen  and  rose  to 
his  feet,  a  tall,  lean,  sombre-faced  man  in  black 
and  gold.  He  spoke  a  few  words  to  Father  Diego 
Deza  and  then  went  up  to  the  Queen  in  the 
window. 

The  monk  went  on  arranging  papers  in  orderly 
bundles,  and  tying  some  of  them  with  cords  of 
green  silk,  which  he  drew  from  a  silver  box. 

John  saw  the  Queen's  face.  It  lit  up  and  be- 
came almost  beautiful  for  a  second  as  Philip  ap- 
proached. Then  as  husband  and  wife  conversed 
in  low  voices,  the  equerry  saw  yet  another  change 
come  over  Mary's  twitching  and  expressive  counte- 
nance. It  hardened  and  froze,  the  thin  lips  tight- 
ened to  a  line  of  dull  pink,  the  eyes  grew  bitter 
bright,  the  head  nodded  emphatically  several  times, 
as  if  in  agreement  at  something  the  King  was 
saying. 

Then  John   felt  some  one  touch  his  arm,  and 


24  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

found  that  the  Dominican  had  come  to  him  noise- 
lessly, and  was  smiling  into  his  face  with  a  flash 
of  white  teeth  and  steady,  watchful  eyes. 

He  started  violently  and  turned  his  head  from 
the  Royal  couple  in  some  confusion.  He  felt  as 
though  he  had  been  detected  in  some  breach  of 
manners,  of  espionage  almost. 

"Buenos  dias,  senor,  como  anda  usted?"  Don 
Diego  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

'  Thank  you,  I  am  very  well,"  Johnnie  answered 
in  Spanish. 

"  Como  esta  su  padre?  " 

"  My  father  is  very  well  also.  He  has  just  left 
me  to  ride  home  to  Kent,"  John  replied,  wonder- 
ing how  in  the  world  this  foreign  priest  knew  of 
the  old  knight's  visit. 

It  was  true,  then,  what  Sir  James  Clinton  had 
said!  He  was  being  carefully  watched.  Even  in 
the  Royal  Closet  his  movements  were  known. 

"  A  loyal   gentleman  and  a  good  son  of  the 
Church,"  said  the  priest,  u  we  have  excellent  re- 
ports of  him,  and  of  you  also,  senor,"  he  concluded, 
with  another  smile. 
John  bowed. 

"Los  negocios  del politica — affairs  of  state,"  the 
chaplain  whispered  with  a  half-glance  at  the  couple 
in  the  window.  '  There  are  great  times  coming  for 
England,  senor.  And  if  you  prove  yourself  a  loyal 
servant  and  good  Catholic,  you  are  destined  to  go 
far.  His  Most  Catholic  Majesty  has  need  of  an 
English  gentleman  such  as  you  in  his  suite,  of  good 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          25 

birth,  of  the  true  religion,  with  Spanish  blood  in 
his  veins,  and  speaking  Spanish." 

Again  the  young  man  bowed.  He  knew  very 
well  that  these  words  were  inspired.  This  suave 
ecclesiastic  was  the  power  behind  the  throne.  He 
held  the  King's  conscience,  was  his  confessor,  more 
powerful  than  any  great  lord  or  Minister — the 
secret,  unofficial  director  of  world-wide  policies. 

His  heart  beat  high  within  him.  The  prospects 
opening  before  him  were  enough  to  dazzle  the 
oldest  and  most  experienced  courtier;  he  was  upon 
the  threshold  of  such  promotion  and  intimacies  as 
he,  the  son  of  a  plain  country  gentleman,  had  never 
dared  to  hope  for. 

It  had  grown  very  hot;  he  remarked  upon  it 
to  the  priest,  noticing,  as  he  did  so,  that  the  room 
was  darker  than  before. 

The  air  of  the  closet  was  heavy  and  oppressive, 
and  glancing  at  the  windows,  he  saw  that  it  was 
no  fancy  of  strained  and  excited  nerves,  but  that 
the  sky  over  the  river  was  darkening,  and  the 
buildings  upon  London  Bridge  stood  out  with 
singular  sharpness. 

"  A  storm  of  thunder,"  said  Don  Diego  indif- 
ferently, and  then,  with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes,  "  and 
such  a  storm  shall  presently  break  over  England 
that  the  air  shall  be  cleared  of  heresy  by  the  light- 
nings of  Holy  Church — ah!  here  cometh  His 
Grace  of  London !  " 

The  Captain  of  the  Guard  had  suddenly  beaten 
upon  the  door.  It  was  flung  open,  and  Sir  James 


26  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Clinton,  who  had  come  down  the  passage  from  the 
Ante-room,  preceded  the  Bishop,  and  announced 
him  in  a  loud,  sonorous  voice. 

Johnnie  instinctively  drew  himself  up  to  atten- 
tion, the  chaplain  hastened  forward,  King  Philip, 
in  the  window,  stood  upright,  and  the  Queen  re- 
mained seated.  From  the  wall  Johnnie  saw  all 
that  happened  quite  distinctly.  The  scene  was 
one  which  he  never  forgot. 

There  was  the  sudden  stir  and  movement  of  his 
lordship's  entrance,  the  alteration  and  grouping  of 
the  people  in  the  closet,  the  challenge  of  the  captain 
at  the  door,  the  heralding  voice  of  Sir  James — and 
then,  into  the  room,  which  was  momentarily  grow- 
ing darker  as  the  thunder  clouds  advanced  on  Lon- 
don, Bishop  Bonner  came. 

The  man  pressed  into  the  room,  swift,  sudden, 
assertive.  In  his  scarlet  chimere  and  white  rochet, 
with  his  bullet  head  and  bristling  beard,  it  was  as 
though  a  shell  had  fallen  into  the  room. 

A  streak  of  livid  light  fell  upon  his  face — set, 
determined,  and  alive  with  purpose — and  the  man's 
eyes,  greenish  brown  and  very  bright,  caught  a 
baleful  fire  from  the  waning  gleam. 

Then,  with  almost  indecent  haste,  he  brushed 
past  John  Commendone  and  the  eager  Spanish 
monk,  and  knelt  before  the  Queen. 

He  kissed  her  hand,  and  the  hand  of  the  King 
Consort  also,  with  some  murmured  words  which 
Johnnie  could  not  catch.  Then  he  rose,  and  the 
Queen,  as  she  had  done  upon  her  arrival  from 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          27 

Winchester  after  her  marriage,  knelt  for  his 
blessing. 

Commendone  and  the  chaplain  knelt  also;  the 
King  of  Spain  bowed  his  head,  as  the  rapid,  breath- 
less pattering  Latin  filled  the  place,  and  one  out- 
stretched hand — two  white  fingers  and  one  white 
thumb — quivered  for  a  moment  and  sank  in  the 
leaden  light. 

There  was  a  new  grouping  of  figures,  some  quick 
talk,  and  then  the  Queen's  great  voice  filled  the 
room. 

"  Mr.  Commendone !  See  that  there  are 
lights!" 

Johnnie  stumbled  out  of  the  closet,  now  dark 
as  at  late  evening,  strode  down  the  passage,  burst 
into  the  Ante-room,  and  called  out  loudly,  "  Bring 
candles,  bring  candles !  " 

Even  as  he  said  it  there  was  a  terrible  crash  of 
thunder  high  in  the  air  above  the  Palace,  and  a 
simultaneous  flash  of  lightning,  which  lit  up  the 
sombre  Ante-room  with  a  blinding  and  ghostly 
radiance  for  the  fraction  of  a  second. 

White  faces  immobile  as  pictures,  tense  forms 
of  all  waiting  there,  and  then  the  voice  of  Sir  James 
and  the  hurrying  of  feet  as  the  servants  rushed 
away.  .  .  . 

It  was  soon  done.  While  the  thunder  pealed  and 
stammered  overhead,  the  amethyst  lightning  sheets 
flickered  and  cracked,  the  white  whips  of  the  fork- 
lightning  cut  into  the  black  and  purple  gloom,  a 
little  procession  was  made,  and  gentlemen  ushers. 


28  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

followed  Johnnie  back  to  the  Royal  Closet,  carry- 
ing candles  in  their  massive  silver  sconces,  dozens 
of  twinkling  orange  points  to  illumine  what  was  to 
be  done. 

The  door  was  closed.  The  King,  Queen,  and 
the  Bishop  sat  down  at  the  central  table  upon  which 
all  the  lights  were  set. 

Don  Diego  Deza  stood  behind  Philip's  chair. 

The  Queen  turned  to  John. 

"  Stand  at  the  door,  Mr.  Commendone,"  she 
said,  "  and  with  your  sword  drawn.  No  one  is 
to  come  in.  We  are  engaged  upon  affairs  of 
state." 

Her  voice  was  a  second  to  the  continuous  mutter 
of  the  thunder,  low,  fierce,  and  charged  with 
menace.  Save  for  the  candles,  the  room  was  now 
quite  dark. 

A  furious  wind  had  risen  and  blew  great  gouts 
of  hot  rain  upon  the  window-panes  with  a  rattle 
as  of  distant  artillery. 

Johnnie  drew  his  sword,  held  it  point  down- 
wards, and  stood  erect,  guarding  the  door.  He 
could  feel  the  tapestry  which  covered  it  moving 
behind  him,  bellying  out  and  pressing  gently  upon 
his  back. 

He  could  see  the  faces  of  the  people  at  the  table 
very  distinctly. 

The  King  of  Spain  and  his  chaplain  were  in 
profile  to  him.  The  Queen  and  the  Bishop  of 
London  he  saw  full-face.  He  had  not  met  the 
Bishop  before,  though  he  had  heard  much  about 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          29 

him,  and  it  was  on  the  prelate's  countenance  that 
his  glance  of  curiosity  first  fell. 

Young  as  he  was,  Johnnie  had  already  begun  to 
cultivate  that  cool  scrutiny  and  estimation  of  char- 
acter which  was  to  stand  him  in  such  stead  during 
the  years  that  were  to  come.  He  watched  the  face 
of  Edmund  Bonner,  or  Boner,  as  the  Bishop  was 
more  generally  called  at  that  time,  with  intense 
interest.  Boner  was  to  the  Queen  what  the 
Dominican  Deza  was  to  her  husband.  The  two 
priests  ruled  two  monarchs. 

In  the  yellow  candle-light,  an  oasis  of  radiance 
in  the  murk  and  gloom  of  the  storm,  the  faces 
of  the  people  round  the  table  hid  nothing.  The 
Bishop  was  bullet-headed,  had  protruding  eyes,  a 
bright  colour,  and  his  moustache  and  beard  only 
partially  hid  lips  that  were  red  and  full.  The  lips 
were  red  and  full,  there  was  a  coarseness,  and  even 
sensuality,  about  them,  which  was,  nevertheless, 
oddly  at  war  with  their  determination  and  in- 
flexibility. The  young  man,  pure  and  fastidious 
himself,  immediately  realised  that  Boner  was  not 
vicious  in  the  ordinary  meaning  of  the  word.  One 
hears  a  good  deal  about  "  thin,  cruel  lips  "  —the 
Queen  had  them,  indeed — but  there  are  full  and 
blood-charged  lips  which  are  cruel  too.  And  these 
were  the  lips  of  the  Bishop  of  London. 

There  was  a  huge  force  about  the  man.  He 
was  plebeian,  common,  but  strong. 

Don  Diego,  Commendone  himself,  the  Queen 
and  her  husband,  were  all  aristocrats  in  their 


3o  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

different  degree,  bred  from  a  line — pedigree 
people. 

That  was  the  bond  between  them. 

The  Bishop  was  outside  all  this,  impatient,  of 
it,  indeed;  but  even  while  the  groom  of  the  body 
twirled  his  moustache  with  an  almost  mechanical 
gesture  of  disgust  and  misliking,  he  felt  the  power 
of  the  man. 

And  no  historian  has  ever  ventured  to  deny  that. 
The  natural  son  of  the  hedge-priest,  George  Sav- 
age— himself  a  bastard — walked  life  with  a  shield 
of  brutal  power  as  his  armour.  The  blood-stained 
man  from  whom — a  few  years  after — Queen  Eliza- 
beth turned  away  with  a  shudder  of  irrepressible 
horror,  was  the  man  who  had  dared  to  browbeat 
and  bully  Pope  Clement  VII  himself.  He  took  a 
personal  and  undignified  delight  in  the  details  of 
physical  and  mental  torture  of  his  victims.  In 
1546  he  had  watched  with  his  own  eyes  the  con- 
vulsions of  Dame  Anne  Askew  upon  the  rack.  He 
was  sincere,  inflexible,  and  remarkable  for  ob- 
stinacy in  everything  except  principle.  As  Ambas- 
sador to  Paris  in  Henry's  reign  he  had  smuggled 
over  printed  sheets  of  Coverdale's  and  Grafton's 
translation  of  the  Bible  in  his  baggage — the 
personal  effects  of  an  ambassador  being  then,  as 
now,  immune  from  prying  eyes.  During  the  Pro- 
tectorate he  had  lain  in  prison,  and  now  the  strenu- 
ous opposer  of  papal  claims  in  olden  days  was  a 
bishop  in  full  communion  with  Rome. 

.    .    .   He  was  speaking  now,   in  a   loud  and 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          31 

vulgar  voice,  which  even  the  presence  of  their 
Majesties  failed  to  soften  or  subdue. 

— "  And  this,  so  please  Your  Grace,  is  but  a 
sign  and  indication  of  the  spirit  abroad.  There  is 
no  surcease  from  it.  We  shall  do  well  to  gird  us 
up  and  scourge  this  heresy  from  England.  This 
letter  was  delivered  by  an  unknown  woman  to  my 
chaplain,  Father  Holmes.  'Tis  a  sign  of  the  times." 

He  unfolded  a  paper  and  began  to  read. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  set  all  in  a  rage  like  a  raven- 
ing wolf  against  the  poor  lambs  of  Christ  appointed 
to  the  slaughter  for  the  testimony  of  the  truth. 
Indeed,  you  are  called  the  common  cut-throat  and 
general  slaughter-slave  to  all  the  bishops  of  Eng- 
land; and  therefore  'tis  wisdom  for  me  and  all 
other  simple  sheep  of  the  Lord  to  keep  us  out  of 
your  butcher's  stall  as  long  as  we  can.  The  very 
papists  themselves  begin  now  to  abhor  your  blood- 
thirstiness,  and  speak  shame  of  your  tyranny.  Like 
tyranny,  believe  me,  my  lord,  any  child  that  can 
any  whit  speak,  can  call  you  by  your  name  and  say, 
'  Bloody  Boner  is  Bishop  of  London';  and  every 
man  hath  it  as  perfectly  upon  his  fingers'-ends  as 
his  Paternoster,  how  many  you,  for  your  part,  have 
burned  with  fire  and  famished  in  prison;  they  say 
the  whole  sum  surmounteth  to  forty  persons  within 
this  three-quarters  of  this  year.  Therefore,  my 
lord,  though  your  lordship  believeth  that  there  is 
neither  heaven  nor  hell  nor  God  nor  devil,  yet  if 
your  lordship  love  your  own  honesty,  which  was 
lost  long  agone,  you  were  best  to  surcease  from  this 


32  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

cruel  burning  of  Christian  men,  and  also  from  mur- 
dering of  some  in  prison,  for  that,  indeed,  of- 
fendeth  men's  minds  most.  Therefore,  say  not  but 
a  woman  gave  you  warning,  if  you  list  to  take  it. 
And  as  for  the  obtaining  of  your  popish  purpose 
in  suppressing  the  Truth,  I  put  you  out  of  doubt, 
you  shall  not  obtain  it  as  long  as  you  go  to  work 
this  way  as  ye  do ;  for  verily  I  believe  that  you  have 
lost  the  hearts  of  twenty  thousand  that  were  rank 
papists  within  this  twelve  months." 

The  Bishop  put  the  letter  down  upon  the  table 
and  beat  upon  it  with  his  clenched  fist.  His  face 
was  alight  with  inquiry  and  anger. 

Every  one  took  it  in  a  different  fashion. 

Philip  crossed  himself  and  said  nothing,  formal, 
cold,  and  almost  uninterested.  Don  Diego  crossed 
himself  also.  His  face  was  stern,  but  his  eyes 
flitted  hither  and  thither,  sparkling  in  the  light. 

Then  the  Queen's  great  voice  boomed  out  into 
the  place,  drowning  the  thunder  and  the  beating 
rain  upon  the  window-panes,  pressing  in  gouts  of 
sound  on  the  hot  air  of  the  closet. 

Her  face  was  bagged  and  pouched  like  a  quilt. 
All  womanhood  was  wiped  out  of  it — lips  white, 
eyes  like  ice.  .  .  . 

"  I'll  stamp  it  out  of  this  realm !  I'll  burn  it 
out.  Jesus !  but  we  will  burn  it  out !  " 

The  Bishop's  face  was  trembling  with  excite- 
ment. He  thrust  a  paper  in  front  of  the  Queen. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  this  is  the  warrant  for 
Doctor  Rowland  Taylor." 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          33 

Mary  caught  up  a  pen  and  wrote  her  name  at 
the  foot  of  the  document  in  the  neat  separated  let- 
ters of  one  accustomed  to  write  in  Greek,  below 
the  signature  of  the  Chancellor  Gardiner  and  the 
Lords  Montague  and  Wharton,  judges  of  the 
Legantine  Court  for  the  trial  of  heretics. 

"  I  will  make  short  with  him,"  the  Queen  said, 
"  and  of  all  blasphemers  and  heretics.  There  is 
the  paper,  my  lord,  with  my  hand  to  it.  A  black 
knave  this,  they  tell  me,  and  withal  very  stubborn 
and  lusty  in  blasphemy." 

"  A  very  black  knave,  Madam.  I  performed 
the  ceremony  of  degradation  upon  him  yestereen, 
and,  by  my  troth,  never  did  the  walls  of  Newgate 
chapel  shelter  such  a  rogue  before.  He  would  not 
put  on  the  vestments  which  I  was  to  strip  from 
him,  and  was  then,  at  my  order,  robed  by  another. 
And  when  he  was  thoroughly  furnished  therewith, 
he  set  his  hands  to  his  sides  and  cried,  '  How  say 
you,  my  lord,  am  I  not  a  goodly  fool?  How  say 
you,  my  masters,  if  I  were  in  Chepe,  should  I  not 
have  boys  enough  to  laugh  at  these  apish  toys?  ' 

The  Queen  crossed  herself.  Her  face  blazed 
with  fury.  "Dog!"  she  cried.  "Perchance  he 
will  sing  another  tune  to-morrow  morn.  But  what 
more?" 

"  I  took  my  crosier-staff  to  smite  him  on  the 
breast,"  the  Bishop  continued.  "  And  upon  that 
Mr.  Holmes,  that  is  my  chaplain,  said,  '  Strike 
him  not,  my  lord,  for  he  will  sure  strike  again.' 
'  Yes,  and  by  St.  Peter  will  I,'  quoth  Doctor  Tay- 


34  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

lor.  '  The  cause  is  Christ's,  and  I  were  no  good 
Christian  if  I  would  not  fight  in  my  Master's 
quarrel.'  So  I  laid  my  curse  on  him,  and  struck 
him  not." 

The  King's  large,  sombre  face  twisted  into  a 
cold  sneer. 

"  Perro  labrador  nunca  buen  mordedor — a  bark- 
ing dog  is  never  a  good  fighter,"  he  said.  "  I 
shall  watch  this  clerk-convict  to-morrow.  Me- 
thinks  he  will  not  be  so  lusty  at  his  burning." 

The  Bishop  looked  up  quickly  with  surprise  in 
his  face. 

"  My  lord,"  the  Queen  said  to  him,  "  His  Maj- 
esty, as  is  both  just  and  right,  desireth  to  see  this 
blasphemer's  end,  and  will  report  to  me  on  the 
matter.  Mr.  Commendone,  come  here." 

Johnnie  advanced  to  the  table. 

"  You  will  go  to  Sir  John  Shelton,"  the  Queen 
went  on,  "  and  learn  from  him  all  that  hath  been 
arranged  for  the  burning  of  this  heretic.  The  King 
will  ride  with  the  party  and  you  in  close  attendance 
upon  His  Majesty.  Only  you  and  Sir  John  will 
know  who  the  King  is,  and  your  life  depends  upon 
his  safety.  I  am  weary  of  this  business.  My  heart 
grieves  for  Holy  Church  while  these  wolves  are 
not  let  from  their  wickedness.  Go  now,  Mr.  Com- 
mendone, upon  your  errand,  and  report  to  Father 
Deza  this  afternoon." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  John  knelt  on  one  knee 
and  kissed  it. 

As  he  left  the  closet  the  rain  was  still  lashing 


IN  THE  QUEEN'S  CLOSET          35 

the  window-panes,  and  the  candles  burnt  yellow  in 
the  gloom. 

By  a  sudden  flash  of  lightning  he  saw  the  four 
faces  looking  down  at  the  death  warrant.  There 
was  a  slight  smile  on  all  of  them,  and  the  expres- 
sions were  very  intent. 

The  great  white  crucifix  upon  the  panelling 
gleamed  like  a  ghost. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    HOUSE   OF   SHAME;   THE    LADDER   OF   GLORY 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  thunder- 
storm of  the  morning  had  long  since  passed  away. 
The  night  was  cool  and  still.  There  was  no 
moon,  but  the  sky  above  London  was  powdered 
with  stars. 

The  Palace  of  the  Tower  was  ablaze  with  lights. 
The  King  and  Queen  had  supped  in  state  at  eight, 
and  now  a  masque  was  in  progress,  held  in  the 
glorious  hall  which  Henry  III  painted  with  the 
story  of  Antiochus. 

The  sweet  music  shivered  out  into  the  night  as 
John  Commendone  came  into  the  garden  among 
the  sleeping  flowers. 

"  And  the  harp  and  the  viol,  the  tabret  and  pipe, 
and  wine  are  in  their  feasts."  Commendone  had 
never  read  the  Bible,  but  the  words  of  the  Prophet 
would  have  well  expressed  his  mood  had  he  but 
known  them. 

For  he  was  melancholy  and  ill  at  ease.  The 
exaltation  of  the  morning  had  quite  gone.  Though 
he  was  still  pleasantly  conscious  that  he  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  great  good  fortune,  some  of  the  savour 
was  lost.  He  could  not  forget  the  lurid  scene  in 
the  Closet — the  four  faces  haunted  him  still.  And 

36 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  37 

he  knew  also  that  a  strange  and  probably  terrible 
experience  waited  him  during  the  next  few 
hours. 

"  God  on  the  Cross,"  he  said  to  himself,  snap- 
ping his  fingers  in  perplexity  and  misease — it  was 
the  fashion  at  Court  to  use  the  great  Tudor  oaths — 
"  I  am  come  to  touch  with  life — real  life  at  last. 
And  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  it.  But  'tis  too  new 
as  yet.  I  must  be  as  other  men  are,  I  suppose!  " 

As  he  walked  alone  in  the  night,  and  the  cool 
air  played  upon  his  face,  he  began  to  realise  how 
placid,  how  much  upon  the  surface,  his  life  had 
always  been  until  now.  He  had  come  to  Court 
perfectly  equipped  by  nature,  birth,  and  training 
for  the  work  of  pageantry,  a  picturesque  part  in 
the  retinue  of  kings.  He  had  fallen  into  his  place 
quite  naturally.  It  all  came  easy  to  him.  He  had 
no  trace  of  the  "  young  gentleman  from  the  coun- 
try "  about  him — he  might  have  started  life  as  a 
Court  page. 

But  the  real  emotions  of  life,  the  under-currents, 
the  hates,  loves,  and  strivings,  had  all  been  a  closed 
book.  He  recognised  their  existence,  but  never 
thought  they  would  or  could  affect  him.  He  had 
imagined  that  he  would  always  be  aloof,  an  inter- 
ested spectator,  untouched,  untroubled. 

And  he  knew  to-night  that  all  this  had  been  but 
a  phantom  of  his  brain.  He  was  to  be  as  other 
men.  Life  had  got  hold  on  him  at  last,  stern  and 
relentless. 

"  To-night,"  he  thought,  "  I  really  begin  to  live. 


38  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

I  am  quickened  to  action.  Some  day,  anon,  I  too 
must  make  a  great  decision,  one  way  or  the  other. 
The  scene  is  set,  they  are  pulling  the  traverse  from 
before  it,  the  play  begins. 

"  I  am  a  fair  white  page,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  on  which  nothing  is  writ,  I  have  ever  been  that. 
To-night  comes  Master  Scrivener.  '  I  have  a 
mind  to  write  upon  thee,'  he  saith,  and  needs  be 
that  I  submit." 

He  sighed. 

The  music  came  to  him,  sweet  and  gracious. 
The  long  orange-litten  windows  of  the  Palace  spoke 
of  the  splendours  within. 

But  he  thought  of  a  man — whose  name  he  had 
never  heard  until  that  morning — lying  in  some 
dark  room,  waiting  for  those  who  were  to  come 
for  him,  the  man  whom  he  would  watch  burning 
before  the  sun  had  set  again. 

It  had  been  an  evening  of  incomparable  splen- 
dour. 

The  King  and  Queen  had  been  served  with  all 
the  panoply  of  state.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the 
Earls  of  Arundel  and  Pembroke,  Lord  Paget  and 
Lord  Rochester,  had  been  in  close  attendance. 

The  Duke  had  held  the  ewer  of  water,  Paget  and 
Rochester  the  bason  and  napkin.  After  the  ablu- 
tions the  Bishop  of  London  said  grace. 

The  Queen  blazed  with  jewels.  The  life  of 
seclusion  she  had  led  before  her  accession  had  by 
no  means  dulled  the  love  of  splendour  inherent  in 
her  family.  Even  the  French  ambassador,  well 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  39 

used  to  pomp  and  display,  leaves  his  own  aston- 
ishment on  record. 

She  wore  raised  cloth  of  gold,  and  round  her 
thin  throat  was  a  partlet  or  collar  of  emeralds. 
Her  stomacher  was  of  diamonds,  an  almost  bar- 
baric display  of  twinkling  fire,  and  over  her  gold 
caul  was  a  cap  of  black  velvet  sewn  with  pearls. 

During  the  whole  of  supper  it  was  remarked 
that  Her  Grace  was  merry.  The  gay  lords  and 
ladies  who  surrounded  her  and  the  King — for  all 
alike,  young  maids  and  grey-haired  dames  of  sixty 
must  blaze  and  sparkle  too. — nodded  and  whispered 
to  each  other,  wondering  at  this  high  good-humour. 

When  the  Sewer  advanced  with  his  white  wand, 
heading  the  procession  of  yeomen-servers  with  the 
gilt  dishes  of  the  second  course — he  was  a  fat 
pottle-bellied  man — the  Queen  turned  to  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk. 

"  Dame!  "  she  said  in  French,  "  here  is  a  pranc- 
ing pie!  Ma  mye!  A  capon  of  high  grease! 
Methinks  this  gentleman  hath  a  very  single  eye 
for  the  larder !  " 

'  Yes,  m'am,"  the  Duke  answered,  "  and  so 
would  make  a  better  feast  for  Polypheme  than 
e'er  the  lean  Odysseus." 

They  went  on  with  their  play  of  words  upon  the 
names  of  the  dishes  in  the  menu.  .  .  . 

"  But  say  rather  a  porpoise  in  armour." 

"  Halibut  engrailed,  Madam,  hath  a  face  of  pe- 
culiar whiteness  like  the  under  belly  of  that  fish  I  " 

"  A  jowl  of  sturgeon  I  " 


40  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  A  Florentine  of  puff  paste,  m'am." 

"  Habet! "  the  Queen  replied,  "  I  can't  better 
that.  Could  you,  Lady  Paget?  You  are  a  great 
jester." 

Lady  Paget,  a  stately  white-haired  dame,  bowed 
to  the  Duke  and  then  to  the  Queen. 

"  His  Grace  is  quick  in  the  riposte,"  she  said, 
"  and  if  Your  Majesty  gives  him  the  palm — qid 
meruit  ferat!  But  capon  of  high  grease  for  my 
liking." 

"  But  you've  said  nothing,  Lady  Paget." 

"  My  wit  is  like  my  body,  m'am,  grown  old 
and  rheumy.  The  salad  days  of  it  are  over.  I 
abdicate  in  favour  of  youth." 

Again  this  adroit  lady  bowed. 

The  Queen  flushed  up,  obviously  pleased  with 
the  compliment.  She  looked  at  the  King  to  see  if 
he  had  heard  or  understood  it. 

The  King  had  been  talking  to  the  Bishop  of 
London,  partly  in  such  Latin  as  he  could  muster, 
which  was  not  much,  but  principally  with  the  aid 
of  Don  Diego  Deza,  who  stood  behind  His  Maj- 
esty's chair,  and  acted  as  interpreter — the  Domini- 
can speaking  English  fluently. 

During  the  whole  of  supper  Philip  had  appeared 
less  morose  than  usual.  There  was  a  certain  fire 
of  expectancy  and  complacence  in  his  eye.  He  had 
smiled  several  times;  his  manner  to  the  Queen  had 
been  more  genial  than  it  was  wont  to  be — a  fact 
which,  in  the  opinion  of  everybody,  duly  accounted 
for  Her  Grace's  high  spirits  and  merriment. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  41 

He  looked  up  now  as  Lady  Paget  spoke. 

"  Ensalada!  "  he  said,  having  caught  one  word 
of  Lady  Paget's  speech — salad.  "  Yes,  give  me 
some  salad.  It  is  the  one  thing"— he  hastened 
to  correct  himself — "  it  is  one  of  the  things  they 
make  better  in  England  than  in  my  country." 

The  Queen  was  in  high  glee. 

"  His  Highness  grows  more  fond  of  our  English 
food,"  she  said ;  and  in  a  moment  or  two  the  Comp- 
troller of  the  Household  came  up  to  the  King's 
chair,  followed  by  a  pensioner  bearing  a  great 
silver  bowl  of  one  of  those  wonderful  salads  of  the 
period,  which  no  modern  skill  of  the  kitchen  seems 
able  to  produce  to-day — burridge,  chicory,  bugloss, 
marigold  leaves,  rocket,  and  alexanders,  all  mixed 
with  eggs,  cinnamon,  oil,  and  ginger. 

Johnnie,  who  was  sitting  at  the  Esquires'  table, 
with  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Body  and  Privy  Closet, 
had  watched  the  gay  and  stately  scene  till  supper 
was  nearly  over. 

The  lights,  the  music,  the  high  air,  the  festivity, 
had  had  no  power  to  lighten  the  oppression  which 
he  felt,  and  when  at  length  the  King  and  Queen 
rose  and  withdrew  to  the  great  gallery  where  the 
Masque  was  presently  to  begin,  he  had  slipped 
out  alone  into  the  garden. 

"  His  golden  locks  time  hath  to  silver  turned." 

The  throbbing  music  of  the  old  song,  the  harps' 
thridding,  the  lutes  shivering  out  their  arpeggio 
accompaniment,  the  viols  singing  together — came 


42  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

to  him  with  rare  and  plaintive  sweetness,  but  they 
brought  but  little  balm  or  assuagement  to  his  dark, 
excited  mood. 

Ten  o'clock  beat  out  from  the  roof  of  the  Palace. 
Johnnie  left  the  garden.  He  was  to  receive  his 
instruction  as  to  his  night's  doing  from  Mr.  Med- 
ley, the  Esquire  of  Sir  John  Shelton,  in  the  Com- 
mon Room  of  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Body. 

He  strode  across  the  square  in  front  of  the 
facade,  and  turned  into  the  long  panelled  room 
where  he  had  breakfasted  that  morning. 

It  was  quite  empty  now — every  one  was  at  the 
Masque — but  two  silver  lamps  illuminated  it,  and 
shone  upon  the  dark  walls  of  the  glittering  array  of 
plate  upon  the  beaufet. 

He  had  not  waited  there  a  minute,  however, 
leaning  against  the  tall  carved  mantelpiece,  a  tall 
and  gallant  figure  in  his  rich  evening  dress,  when 
steps  were  heard  coming  through  the  hall,  the 
door  swung  open,  and  Mr.  Medley  entered. 

He  was  a  thick-set,  bearded  man  of  middle 
height,  more  soldier  than  courtier,  with  the  stamp 
of  the  barrack-room  and  camp  upon  him;  a  brisk, 
quick-spoken  man,  with  compressed  lips  and  an  air 
of  swift  service. 

"  Give  you  good  evening,  Mr.  Commendone," 
he  said;  "  I  am  come  with  Sir  John's  orders." 

Johnnie  bowed.  "  At  your  service,"  he  an- 
swered. 

The  soldier  looked  round  the  room  carefully 
before  speaking. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  43 

"  There  is  no  one  here,  Mr.  Medley,"  Johnnie 
said. 

The  other  nodded  and  came  close  up  to  the 
young  courtier. 

'  The  Masque  hath  been  going  this  half-hour," 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  but  His  Highness  hath 
withdrawn.  Her  Grace  is  still  with  the  dancers, 
and  in  high  good-humour.  Now,  I  must  tell  you, 
Mr.  Commendone,  that  the  Queen  thinketh  His 
Highness  in  his  own  wing  of  the  Palace,  and  with 
Don  Diego  and  Don  de  Castro,  his  two  confessors. 
She  is  willing  that  this  should  be  so,  and  said 
'  Good  night '  to  His  Highness  after  supper,  know- 
ing that  he  will  presently  set  out  to  the  burning  of 
Dr.  Taylor.  She  knoweth  that  the  party  sets  out 
for  Hadley  at  two  o'clock,  and  thinketh  that  His 
Highness  is  spending  the  time  before  then  in 
prayer  and  a  little  sleep.  I  tell  you  this,  Mr.  Com- 
mendone, in  order  that  you  go  not  back  to  the 
Masque  before  that  you  set  out  from  the  Tower  to 
a  certain  house  where  His  Highness  will  be  with 
Sir  John  Shelton.  You  will  take  your  own  servant 
mounted  and  armed,  and  a  man-at-arms  also  will 
be  at  the  door  of  your  lodging  here  at  ten  minutes 
of  midnight.  The  word  at  the  Coal  Harbour  Gate 
is  '  Christ.'  With  your  two  men  you  will  at  once 
ride  over  London  Bridge  and  so  to  Duck  Lane, 
scarce  a  furlong  from  the  other  side  of  the  bridge. 
Doubtless  you  know  it  " — and  here  the  man's  eyes 
flickered  with  a  half  smile  for  a  moment — "  but  if 
not,  the  man-at-arms,  one  of  Sir  John's  men,  will 


44  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

show  you  the  way.  You  will  knock  at  the  big  house 
with  the  red  door,  and  be  at  once  admitted.  There 
will  be  a  light  over  the  door.  His  Highness 
will  be  there  with  Sir  John,  and  that  is  all  I  have 
to  tell  you.  Afterwards  you  will  know  what  to 
do." 

Johnnie  bowed.  "  Give  you  good  night,"  he 
said.  "  I  understand  very  well." 

As  soon  as  the  Esquire  had  gone,  Johnnie  turned 
out  of  the  Common  Room,  ascended  the  stairs, 
went  to  his  own  chamber  and  threw  himself  upon 
the  little  bed. 

He  had  imagined  that  something  like  this  was 
likely  to  occur.  The  King's  habits  were  perfectly 
well  known  to  all  those  about  him,  and  indeed 
were  whispered  of  in  the  Court  at  large,  Queen 
Mary,  alone,  apparently  knowing  nothing  of  the 
truth  as  yet.  The  King's  unusual  bonhomie  at 
supper  could  hardly  be  accounted  for,  at  least  so 
Johnnie  thought,  by  the  fact  that  he  was  to  see  his 
own  and  the  Queen's  bigotry  translated  into  dread- 
ful reality.  To  the  keen  young  student  of  faces  the 
King  had  seemed  generally  relieved,  expectant, 
with  the  air  of  a  boy  about  to  be  released  from 
school.  Now,  the  reason  was  plain  enough.  His 
Highness  had  gone  with  Sir  John  Shelton  to  some 
infamous  house  in  a  bad  quarter  of  the  city,  and 
it  was  there  the  Equerry  was  to  meet  him  and  ride 
to  the  death  scene. 

Johnnie  tossed  impatiently  upon  his  bed.  He 
remembered  how  on  that  very  morning  he  had 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  45 

expressed  his  hopes  to  Sir  Henry  that  his  duties 
would  not  lead  him  into  dubious  places.  A  lot 
of  water  had  run  under  the  bridges  since  he  kissed 
his  father  farewell  in  the  bright  morning  light. 
His  whole  prospects  were  altered,  and  advanced. 
For  one  thing,  he  had  been  present  at  an  intimate 
and  private  conference  and  had  received  marked 
and  special  favour — he  shuddered  now  as  he  re- 
membered the  four  intent  faces  round  the  table  in 
the  Privy  Closet,  those  sharp  faces,  with  a  cruel 
smirk  upon  them,  those  still  faces  with  the  orange 
light  playing  over  them  in  the  dark,  tempest- 
haunted  room. 

"  I'  faith,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  thou  art  fairly 
put  to  sea,  Johnnie !  but  I  will  not  feed  myself  with 
questioning.  I  am  in  the  service  of  princes,  and 
must  needs  do  as  I  am  told.  Who  am  I  to  be 
squeamish?  But  hey-ho !  I  would  I  were  in  the 
park  at  Commendone  to-night." 

About  eleven  o'clock  his  servant  came  to  him 
and  helped  him  to  change  his  dress.  He  wore 
long  riding-boots  of  Spanish  leather,  a  light  corse- 
let of  tough  steel,  inlaid  with  arabesques  of  gold, 
and  a  big  quilted  Spanish  hat.  Over  all  he  fastened 
a  short  riding-cloak  of  supple  leather  dyed  purple. 
He  primed  his  pistols  and  gave  them  to  a  man  to 
be  put  into  his  holsters,  and  about  a  quarter  before 
midnight  descended  the  stairs. 

He  found  a  man-at-arms  with  a  short  pike,  al- 
ready mounted,  and  his  servant  leading  the  other 
two  horses;  he  walked  toward  the  Coal  Harbour 


46  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Gate,  gave  the  word  to  the  Lieutenant  of  the 
Guard,  and  left  the  Tower. 

A  light  moon  was  just  beginning  to  rise  and 
throw  fantastic  shadows  over  Tower  Hill.  It  was 
bright  enough  to  ride  by,  and  Johnnie  forbade  his 
man  to  light  the  horn  lantern  which  was  hanging 
at  the  fellow's  saddle-bow. 

They  went  at  a  foot  pace,  the  horses'  feet  echo- 
ing with  an  empty,  melancholy  sound  from  the  old 
timbered  houses  back  to  the  great  bastion  wall  of 
the  Tower. 

The  man-at-arms  led  the  way.  When  they  came 
to  London  Bridge,  where  a  single  lantern  showed 
the  broad  oak  bar  studded  with  nails,  which  ran 
across  the  roadway,  Johnnie  noticed  that  upon  the 
other  side  of  it  were  two  halberdiers  of  the  Tower 
Guard  in  their  uniforms  of  black  and  crimson, 
talking  to  the  keeper  of  the  gate. 

As  they  came  up  the  bar  swung  open. 

"Mr.  Commendone?"  said  the  keeper,  an 
elderly  man  in  a  leather  jerkin. 

Johnnie  nodckd. 

"  Pass  through,  sir,"  the  man  replied,  saluting, 
as  did  also  the  two  soldiers  who  were  standing 
there. 

The  little  cavalcade  went  slowly  over  the  bridge 
between  the  tall  houses  on  either  side,  which  at 
certain  points  almost  met  with  their  overhanging 
eaves.  The  shutters  were  up  all  over  the  little 
jewellers'  shops.  Here  and  there  a  lamp  burned 
from  an  upstairs  window,  and  the  swish  and  swirl 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  4? 

of  the  river  below  could  be  heard  quite  distinctly. 

At  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  just  by  the  well- 
known  armourer's  shop  of  Guido  Ponzio,  the 
Italian  sword-smith,  whose  weapons  were  eagerly 
purchased  by  members  of  the  Court  and  the  officers 
both  of  the  Tower  and  Whitehall,  another  hal- 
berdier was  standing,  who  again  saluted  Commen- 
done  as  he  rode  by. 

It  was  quite  obvious  to  Johnnie  that  every  pre- 
caution had  been  taken  so  that  the  King's  excur- 
sion into  les  coulisses  might  be  undisturbed. 

The  pike  was  swung  open  for  them  on  the  south 
side  of  the  bridge  directly  they  drew  near,  and 
putting  their  horses  to  the  trot,  they  cantered  over 
a  hundred  yards  of  trodden  grass  round  which 
houses  were  standing  in  the  form  of  a  little  square, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  more  turned  into  Duck  Lane. 

At  this  hour  of  the  night  the  narrow  street  of 
heavily-timbered  houses  was  quite  dark  and  silent. 
It  seemed  there  was  not  a  soul  abroad,  and  this 
surprised  Johnnie,  who  had  been  led  to  under- 
stand that  at  midnight  "  The  Lane "  was  fre- 
quently the  scene  of  roistering  activity.  Now,  how- 
ever, the  houses  were  all  blind  and  dark,  and  the 
three  horsemen  might  have  been  moving  down  a 
street  in  the  city  of  the  dead. 

Only  the  big  honey-coloured  moon  threw  a  prim- 
rose light  upon  the  topmost  gables  of  the  houses 
on  the  left  side  of  "  The  Lane  "  —all  the  rest 
being  black  velvet,  sombreness  and  shadow. 

John's  mouth  curved  a  little  in  disdain  under  his 


48  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

small  dark  moustache,  as  he  noted  all  this  and 
realised  exactly  what  it  meant. 

When  a  king  set  out  for  furtive  pleasures,  lesser 
men  of  vice  must  get  them  to  their  kennels  !  Lights 
were  out,  all  manifestation  of  evil  was  thickly  cur- 
tained. The  shameless  folk  of  that  wicked  quarter 
of  the  town  must  have  shame  imposed  upon  them 
for  the  night. 

The  King  was  taking  his  pleasure. 

John  Commendone,  since  his  arrival  in  London, 
and  at  the  Court,  had  quietly  refused  to  be  a  mem- 
ber of  any  of  those  hot-blooded  parties  of  young 
men  who  sallied  out  from  the  Tower  or  from 
Whitehall  when  the  reputable  world  was  sleeping. 
It  was  not  to  his  taste.  He  was  perfectly  capable 
of  tolerating  vice  in  others — looking  on  it,  indeed, 
as  a  natural  manifestation  of  human  nature  and 
event.  But  for  himself  he  had  preferred  aloofness. 

Nevertheless,  from  the  descriptions  of  his 
friends,  he  knew  that  Duck  Lane  to-night  was 
wearing  an  aspect  which  it  very  seldom  wore,  and 
as  he  rode  slowly  down  that  blind  and  sinister 
thoroughfare  with  his  attendants,  he  realised  with 
a  little  cold  shudder  what  it  was  to  be  a  king. 

He  himself  was  the  servant  of  a  king,  one  of 
those  whom  good  fortune  and  opportunity  had 
promoted  to  be  a  minister  to  those  almost  super- 
human beings  who  could  do  no  wrong,  and  ruled 
and  swayed  all  other  men  by  means  of  their  Divine 
Right. 

This  was  a  position  he  perfectly  accepted,  had 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  49 

accepted  from  the  first.  Already  he  was  rising  high 
in  the  course  of  life  he  had  started  to  pursue. 
He  had  no  thought  of  questioning  the  deeds  of 
princes.  He  knew  that  it  was  his  duty,  his  metier, 
in  life  to  be  a  pawn  in  the  great  game.  What 
affected  him  now,  however,  as  they  came  up  to  a 
big  house  of  free-stone  and  timber,  where  a  lanthorn 
of  horn  hung  over  a  door  painted  a  dull  scarlet, 
was  a  sense  of  the  enormous  and  irrevocable  power 
of  those  who  were  set  on  high  to  rule. 

No !  They  were  not  human,  they  were  not  as 
other  men  and  women  are. 

He  had  been  in  the  Queen's  Closet  that  morn- 
ing, and  had  seen  the  death  warrant  signed.  The 
great  convulsion  of  nature,  the  furious  thunders 
of  God,  had  only  been,  as  it  were,  a  mere  accom- 
paniment to  the  business  of  the  four  people  in  the 
Queen's  lodge. 

A  scratch  of  a  pen — a  man  to  die. 

And  then,  during  the  evening,  he  had  seen,  once 
more,  the  King  and  Queen,  bright,  glittering  and 
radiant,  surrounded  by  the  highest  and  noblest  of 
England,  serene,  unapproachable,  the  centre  of  the 
stupendous  pageant  of  the  hour. 

And  now,  again,  he  was  come  to  the  stews,  to 
the  vile  quarter  of  London,  and  even  here  the  secret 
presence  of  a  king  closed  all  doors,  and  kept  the 
pandars  and  victims  of  evil  silent  in  their  dens  like 
crouching  hares. 

As  they  came  up  to  the  big,  dark  house,  a  little 
breeze  from  the  river  swirled  down  the  Lane,  and 


50  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

fell  fresh  upon  Johnnie's  cheek.  As  it  did  so,  he 
knew  that  he  was  hot  and  fevered,  that  the  riot  of 
thought  within  him  had  risen  the  temperature  of 
his  blood.  It  was  cool  and  grateful — this  little 
clean  breeze  of  the  water,  and  he  longed  once  more, 
though  only  for  a  single  second,  that  he  was  home 
in  the  stately  park  of  Commendone,  and  had  never 
heard  the  muffled  throb  of  the  great  machine  of 
State,  of  polity,  and  the  going  hither  and  thither 
of  kings  and  queens. 

But  it  only  lasted  for  a  moment. 

He  was  disciplined,  he  was  under  orders.  He 
pulled  himself  together,  banished  all  wild  and 
speculative  thought — sat  up  in  the  saddle,  gripped 
the  sides  of  his  cob  with  his  knees,  and  set  his  left 
arm  akimbo. 

'  This    is    the   house,    sir,"    said   the   trooper, 
saluting. 

'  Very  well,"  Johnnie  answered,  as  his  servant 
dismounted  and  took  his  horse  by  the  bridle. 

Johnnie  leapt  to  the  ground,  pulled  his  sword- 
belt  into  position,  settled  his  hat  upon  his  head, 
and  with  his  gloved  fist  beat  upon  the  big  red  door 
before  him. 

In  ten  seconds  he  heard  a  step  on  the  other  side 
of  the  door.  It  swung  open,  and  a  tall,  thin  per- 
son, wearing  a  scarlet  robe  and  a  mask  of  black 
velvet  over  the  upper  part  of  the  face,  bowed  low 
before  him,  and  with  a  gesture  invited  him  to  enter. 

Johnnie  turned  round. 

"  You  will  stay  here,"  he  said  to  the  men.    "  Be 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  51 

quite  silent,  and  don't  stray  away  a  yard  from  the 
door." 

Then  he  followed  the  tall,  thin  figure,  which 
closed  the  door,  and  flitted  down  a  short  passage 
in  front  of  him  with  noiseless  footsteps. 

He  knew  at  once  that  he  was  in  Queer  Street. 

The  nondescript  figure  in  its  fantastic  robe  and 
mask  struck  a  chill  of  disgust  to  his  blood. 

It  was  a  fantastic  age,  and  all  aberrations — all 
deviations — from  the  normal  were  constantly  ac- 
centuated by  means  of  costumes  and  theatric  effect. 

The  superficial  observer  of  the  manners  of  our 
day  is  often  apt  to  exclaim  upon  the  decadence  of 
our  time.  One  has  heard  perfectly  sincere  and 
healthy  Englishmen  inveigh  with  anger  upon  the 
literature  of  the  moment,  the  softness  and  luxury 
of  life  and  art,  the  invasion  of  sturdy  English  ideals 
by  the  corrupt  influences  of  France. 

"  Give  me  the  days  of  Good  Queen  Bess,  the 
hearty,  healthy,  strong  Tudor  life,"  is  the  sort  of 
exclamation  by  no  means  rare  in  our  time. 

.  .  .  "Bluff  King  Hal!  Drake,  Raleigh,  all 
that  rough,  brave,  and  splendid  time!  Think  of 
Shakespeare,  my  boy !  " 

Whether  or  no  our  own  days  are  deficient  in 
hardihood  and  endurance  is  not  a  question  to  be 
discussed  here — though  the  private  records  of  Eng- 
land's last  war  might  very  well  provide  a  complete 
answer  to  the  query.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  in 
an  age  when  personal  prowess  with  arms  was  still 
a  title  to  fortune,  when  every  gentleman  of  position 


52  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

and  birth  knew  and  practised  the  use  of  weapons, 
the  under-currents  of  life,  the  hidden  sides  of  social 
affairs,  were  at  least  as  "  curious  "  and  "  decadent  " 
as  anything  Montmartre  or  the  Quartier  Latin 
have  to  show. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  in  the  late  Tudor 
Age  almost  every  one  of  good  family,  each  gentle- 
man about  the  Court,  was  not  only  a  trained  soldier, 
but  also  a  highly  cultured  person  as  well.  The 
Renaissance  in  Italy  was  in  full  swing  and  activity. 
Its  culture  had  crossed  the  Alps,  its  art  was  borne 
upon  the  wings  of  its  advance  to  our  northern 
shores. 

Crossness  was  refined.   .    .    . 

Johnnie  twirled  his  moustache  as  he  followed  the 
nondescript  sexless  figure  which  flitted  down  the 
dimly-lit  panelled  passage  before  him  like  some 
creature  from  a  masque. 

At  the  end  of  the  passage  there  was  a  door. 

Arrived  at  it,  a  long,  thin  arm,  in  a  sleeve  of 
close-fitting  black  silk,  shot  out  from  the  red  robe. 
A  thin  ivory-coloured  hand,  with  fingers  of  almost 
preternatural  length,  rose  to  a  painted  scarlet  slit 
which  was  the  creature's  mouth. 

The  masked  head  dropped  a  little  to  one  side, 
one  lean  finger,  shining  like  a  fish-bone,  tapped  the 
mouth  significantly,  the  door  opened,  some  heavy 
curtains  of  Flanders  tapestry  were  pushed  aside, 
and  the  Equerry  walked  into  a  place  as  strange  and 
sickly  as  he  had  ever  met  in  some  fantastic  or  dis- 
ordered dream. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  53 

Johnnie  heard  the  door  close  softly  behind  him, 
the  "  swish,  swish  "  of  the  falling  curtains.  And 
then  he  stood  up,  his  eyes  blinking  a  little  in  the 
bright  light  which  streamed  upon  them — his  hand 
upon  his  sword-hilt — and  looked  around  to  find 
himself.  He  was  in  a  smallish  room,  hung  around 
entirely  with  an  arras  of  scarlet  cloth,  powdered 
at  regular  intervals  with  a  pattern  of  golden 
bats. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  a  heavy  carpet  of 
Flanders  pile — a  very  rare  and  luxurious  thing  in 
those  days — and  the  whole  room  was  lit  by  its 
silver  lamps,  which  hung  from  the  ceiling  upon 
chains.  On  one  side,  opposite  the  door,  was  a 
great  pile  of  cushions,  going  half-way  up  the  wall 
towards  the  ceiling — cushions  as  of  strange  bar- 
baric colours,  violent  colours  that  smote  upon  the 
eye  and  seemed  almost  to  do  the  brain  a  violence. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room,  right  in  the  centre, 
was  a  low  oak  stool,  upon  which  was  a  silver  tray. 
In  the  middle  of  the  tray  was  a  miniature  chafing- 
dish,  beneath  which  some  volatile  amethyst-coloured 
flame  was  burning,  and  from  the  dish  itself  a  pas- 
tille, smouldering  and  heated,  sent  up  a  thin,  grey 
whip  of  odorous  smoke. 

The  whole  air  of  this  curious  tented  room  was 
heavy  and  languorous  with  perfume.  Sickly,  and 
yet  with  a  sensuous  allurement,  the  place  seemed 
to  reel  round  the  young  man,  to  disgust  one  side  of 
him,  the  real  side;  and  yet,  in  some  low,  evil 
fashion,  to  beckon  to  base  things  in  his  blood — base 


54  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

thoughts,  physical  influences  which  he  had  never 
known  before,  and  which  now  seemed  to  suddenly 
wake  out  of  a  long  sleep,  and  to  whisper  in  his 
ears. 

All  this,  this  surveyal  of  the  place  in  which  he 
found  himself,  took  but  a  moment,  and  he  had 
hardly  stood  there  for  three  seconds — tall,  upright, 
and  debonair,  amid  the  wicked  luxury  of  the  room 
— when  he  heard  a  sound  to  his  left,  and,  turning, 
saw  that  he  was  not  alone. 

Behind  a  little  table  of  Italian  filigree  work, 
upon  which  were  a  pair  of  tiny  velvet  slippers, 
embroidered  with  burnt  silver,  a  sprunking-glass — 
or  pocket  mirror — and  a  tall-stemmed  bottle  of 
wine,  sat  a  vast,  pink,  fleshy,  elderly  woman. 

Her  face,  which  was  as  big  as  a  ham,  was 
painted  white  and  scarlet.  Her  eyebrows  were 
pencilled  with  deep  black,  the  heavy  eyes  shared 
the  vacuity  of  glass,  with  an  evil  and  steadfast 
glitter  of  welcome. 

.There  were  great  pouches  underneath  the  eyes; 
the  nose  was  hawk-like,  the  chins  pendulous,  the 
lips  once,  perhaps,  well  curved  and  beautiful 
enough,  now  full,  bloated,  and  red  with  horrid 
invitation. 

The  woman  was  dressed  with  extreme  richness. 

Fat  and  powdered  fingers  were  covered  with 
rings.  Her  corsage  was  jewelled — she  was  like 
some  dreadful  mummy  of  what  youth  had  been,  a 
sullen  caricature  of  a  long-past  youth,  when  she 
also  might  have  walked  in  the  fields  under  God's 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  55 

sky,  heard  bird-music,  and  seen  the  dew  upon  the 
bracken  at  dawn. 

Johnnie  stirred  and  blinked  at  this  apparition 
for  a  moment;  then  his  natural  courtesy  and  train- 
ing came  to  him,  and  he  bowed. 

As  he  did  so,  the  fat  old  woman  threw  out  her 
jewelled  arms,  leant  back  in  her  chair,  stuttering 
and  choking  with  amusement. 

"Tiensf"  she  said  in  French,  "Monsieur  qul 
arrive!  Why  have  you  never  been  to  see  me  be- 
fore, my  dear?  " 

Johnnie  said  nothing  at  all.  His  head  was  bent 
a  little  forward.  He  was  regarding  this  old 
French  procuress  with  grave  attention. 

He  knew  now  at  once  who  she  was.  He  had 
heard  her  name  handed  about  the  Court  very 
often — Madame  La  Motte. 

'  You  are  a  little  out  of  my  way,  Madame," 
Johnnie  answered.  "  I  come  not  over  Thames. 
You  see,  I  am  but  newly  arrived  at  the  Court." 

He  said  it  perfectly  politely,  but  with  a  little 
tiny,  half-hidden  sneer,  which  the  woman  was  quick 
to  notice. 

"  Ah !  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  you  are  here  on 
duty.  Merci,  that  I  know  very  well.  Those  for 
whom  you  have  come  will  be  down  from  above 
stairs  very  soon,  and  then  you  can  go  about  your 
business.  But  you  will  take  a  glass  of  wine  with 
me?" 

''  I  shall  be  very  glad,  Madame,"  Johnnie  an- 
swered, as  he  watched  the  fat,  trembling  hand, 


56  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

with  all  its  winking  jewels,  pouring  Vin  de  Bur- 
gogne  into  a  glass.  He  raised  it  and  bowed. 

The  old  painted  woman  raised  her  glass  also, 
and  lifted  it  to  her  lips,  tossing  the  wine  down  with 
a  sudden  smack  of  satisfaction. 

Then,  in  that  strange  perfumed  room,  the  two 
oddly  assorted  people  looked  at  each  other 
straightly  for  a  moment. 

Neither  spoke. 

At  length  Madame  La  Motte,  of  the  great  big 
house  with  the  red  door,  heaved  herself  out  of  her 
arm-chair,  and  waddled  round  the  table.  She  was 
short  and  fat;  she  put  one  hand  upon  the  shoulder 
of  the  tall,  clean  young  man  in  his  riding  suit  and 
light  armour. 

" Mon  ami"  she  said  thickly,  "  don't  come  here 
again." 

Johnnie  looked  down  at  the  hideous  old  creature, 
but  with  a  singular  feeling  of  pity  and  compassion. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  propose  to  come 
again." 

"  Thou  art  limn  and  debonair,  and  a  very 
pretty  boy,  but  come  not  here,  because  in  thy  face 
I  see  other  things  for  thee.  Lads  of  the  Court  come 
to  see  me  and  my  girls,  proper  lads  too,  but  in 
their  faces  there  is  not  what  I  discern  in  thy  face. 
For  them  it  matters  nothing;  for  thee  'twould  be 
a  stain  for  all  thy  life.  Thou  knowest  well  whom 
I  am,  Monsieur,  and  canst  guess  well  where  I  shall 
go — e'en  though  His  Most  Catholic  Majesty  be 
above  stairs,  and  will  get  absolution  for  all  he  is 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  57 

pleased  to  do  here.    But  you — thou  wilt  be  a  clean 
boy.    Is  it  not  so?  " 

The  fat  hand  trembled  upon  the  young  man's 
arm,  the  hoarse,  sodden  voice  was  full  of  pleading. 

"  Ma  mere,"  Johnnie  answered  her  in  her  own 
language,  "  have  no  fear  for  me.  I  thank  you — 
but  I  did  not  understand  ..." 

"  Boy,"  she  cried,  "  thou  canst  not  understand. 
Many  steps  down  hellwards  have  I  gone,  and  in  the 
pit  there  is  knowledge.  I  knew  good  as  thou  know- 
est  it.  Evil  now  I  know  as,  please  God,  thou  wilt 
never  know  it.  .But,  look  you,  from  my  very 
knowledge  of  evil,  I  am  given  a  tongue  with  which 
to  speak  to  thee.  Keep  virgin.  Thou  art  virgin 
now;  my  hand  upon  thy  sword-arm  tells  me  that. 
Keep  virgin  until  the  day  cometh  and  bringeth 
thy  lady  and  thy  destined  love  to  thee." 

'  There  were  tears  in  the  young  man's  eyes  as  he 
looked  down  into  the  great  pendulous  painted  face, 
from  which  now  the  evil  seemed  to  be  wiped  away 
as  a  cloth  wipes  away  a  chalk  mark  upon  a  slate. 

As  the  last  ray  of  a  setting  sun  sometimes  touches 
to  a  fugitive  glory — a  last  fugitive  glory — some 
ugly,  sordid  building  of  a  town,  so  here  he  saw 
something  maternal  and  sweet  upon  the  face  of  this 
old  brothel-keeper,  this  woman  who  had  amassed 
a  huge  fortune  in  ministering  to  the  pride  of  life, 
the  pomp,  vanity,  and  lusts  of  Principalities  and 
Powers. 

He  turned  half  round,  and  took  the  woman's  left 
hand  in  his. 


5  8  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  My  mother,"  he  said,  with  an  infinitely  win- 
ning and  yet  very  melancholy  gaze,  "  my  mother, 
I  think,  indeed,  that  love  will  never  come  to  me.  I 
am  not  made  so.  May  the  Mother  of  God  shield 
me  from  that  which  is  not  love,  but  natheless  seem- 
eth  to  have  love's  visage  when  one  is  hot  in  wine  or 
stirred  to  excitement.  But  thou,  thou  wert  not 
ever  ..." 

She  broke  in  upon  him  quickly. 

Her  great  red  lips  pouted  out  like  a  ripe  plum. 
The  protruding  fishy  eyes  positively  lit  up  with  dis- 
dain of  herself  and  of  her  life. 

"  Mon  cher,"  she  said,  "  Hola!  I  was  a  young 
girl  once  in  Lorraine.  I  had  a  brother — I  will 
tell  you  little  of  that  old  time — but  I  have  blood." 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  throwing  back  her  head, 
till  the  great  rolls  of  flesh  beneath  her  chin  stretched 
into  tightness,  "  yes,  I  have  blood.  There  was  a 
day  when  I  was  a  child,  when  the  poet  Jean 
D'Aquis  wrote  of  us — 

' '  Quand  nous  habitions  tous  ensemble 
Sur  nos  collines  d'autrefois, 
Ou  1'eau  court,  ou  le  buisson  tremble 
Dans  la  maison  qui  louche  aux  bois.' 

...  It  was."  Suddenly  she  left  Johnnie  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  with  extraordi- 
nary agility  for  her  weight  and  years,  glided  round 
the  little  table,  and  sank  once  more  into  her  seat. 
The  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  opened, 
and  a  tall  girl,  with  a  white  face  and  thin,  wicked 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  59 

mouth,  and  a  glorious  coronal  of  red  hair  came 
into  the  room. 

"  'Tis  finished,"  she  said,  to  the  mistress  of  the 
house.  "  Sir  John  Shelton  is  far  in  drink. 

He "  she  stopped  suddenly,  as  she  saw  Johnnie, 

gave  him  a  keen,  questioning  glance,  and  then 
looked  once  more  towards  the  fat  woman  in  the 
chair. 

Madame  nodded.  "  This  is  His  Highness's 
gentleman,"  she  said,  "  awaiting  him.  So  it's  fin- 
ished?" 

The  girl  nodded,  beginning  to  survey  Johnnie 
with  a  cruel,  wicked  scrutiny,  which  made  him  flush 
with  mingled  embarrassment  and  anger. 

"  His  Highness  is  coming  down,  Mr.  Esquire," 
she  said,  pushing  out  a  little  red  tip  of  tongue  from 
between  her  lips.  "  His  Highness  ..." 

The  old  woman  in  the  chair  suddenly  leapt  up. 
She  ran  at  the  tall,  red-haired  girl,  caught  her  by 
the  throat,  and  beat  her  about  the  face  with  her 
fat,  jewelled  hands,  cursing  her  in  strange  French 
oaths,  clutching  at  her  hair,  shaking  her,  swinging 
her  about  with  a  dreadful  vulgar  ferocity  which 
turned  John's  blood  cold. 

As  he  stood  there  he  caught  a  glimpse,  never 
to  be  forgotten,  of  all  that  underlay  this  veneer  of 
midnight  luxury.  He  saw  vile  passions  at  work,  he 
realised — for  the  first  time  truly  and  completely — 
in  what  a  hideous  place  he  was. 

The  tall  girl,  sobbing  and  bleeding  in  the  face, 
disappeared  behind  the  arras.  The  old  woman 


60  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

turned  to  Johnnie.  Her  face  was  almost  purple 
with  exertion,  her  eyes  blazed,  her  hawk-like  nose 
seemed  to  twitch  from  side  to  side,  she  panted  out 
an  apology: 

"  She  dared,  Monsieur,  she  dared,  one  of  my 
girls,  one  of  my  slaves !  Hist !  " 

A  loud  voice  was  heard  from  above,  feet  tram- 
pled upon  stairs,  through  the  open  door  which 
led  to  the  upper  parts  of  the  house  of  ill-fame  came 
Sir  John  Shelton,  a  big,  gross,  athletic  man,  ob- 
viously far  gone  in  wine. 

He  saw  Johnnie.  "  Ah,  Mr.  Commendone,"  he 
said  thickly.  "  Here  we  are,  and  here  are  you ! 
God's  teeth !  I  like  well  to  see  you.  I  myself  am 
well  gone  in  wine,  though  I  will  sit  my  horse,  as 
thou  wilt  see." 

He  lurched  up  to  Johnnie  and  whispered  in  the 
young  man's  ear,  with  hot,  wine-tainted  breath. 

"  He's  coming  down,"  he  whispered.  "  It's  your 
part  to  take  charge  of  His  Highness.  He's " 

Sir  John  stood  upright,  swaying  a  little  from  the 
shoulders,  as  down  the  stairway,  framed  in  the 
lintel  of  the  door,  came  King  Philip  of  Spain. 

The  King  was  dressed  very  much  as  Johnnie 
himself  was  dressed;  his  long,  melancholy  face  was 
a  little  flushed — though  not  with  wine.  His  eyes 
were  bright,  his  thin  lips  moved  and  worked. 

Directly  he  saw  Commendone  his  face  lit  up 
with  recognition.  It  seemed  suddenly  to  change. 

"  Ah,  you  are  here,  Mr.  Commendone,"  he  said 
in  Spanish.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  We  have  had 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  61 

our  amusements,  and  now  we  go  upon  serious 
business." 

The  alteration  in  the  King's  demeanour  was 
instant.  Temperate,  as  all  Spaniards  were  and  are, 
he  was  capable  at  a  moment's  notice  of  dismissing 
what  had  passed,  and  changing  from  bon  viveur 
into  a  grave  potentate  in  a  flash. 

He  came  up  to  Johnnie.  "  Now,  Mr.  Commen- 
done,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet,  decisive  voice,  "  we  will 
get  to  horse  and  go  upon  our  business.  The  senor 
don  here  is  gone  in  wine,  but  he  will  recover  as  we 
ride  to  Hadley.  You  are  in  charge.  Let's  begone 
from  this  house." 

The  King  led  the  way  out  of  the  red  room. 

The  old  procuress  bowed  to  the  ground  as  he 
went  by,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  her. 

Johnnie  followed  the  King,  Sir  John  Shelton 
came  staggering  after,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  they 
were  out  in  the  street,  where  was  now  gathered  a 
small  company  of  horse,  with  serving-men  holding 
up  torches  to  illumine  the  blackness  of  the  night. 

They  mounted  and  rode  away  slowly  out  of 
Duck  Lane  and  across  London  Bridge,  the  noise 
of  their  passing  echoing  between  the  tall,  barred 
houses. 

Several  soldiers  rode  first,  and  after  them  came 
Sir  John  Shelton.  Commendone  rode  at  the  King's 
left  hand,  and  he  noticed  that  His  Highness's 
broad  hat  was  pulled  low  over  his  face  and  a  riding 
cloak  muffled  the  lower  part  of  it.  Behind  them 
came  the  other  men-at-arms.  As  soon  as  they  were 


62  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

clear  of  the  bridge  the  walk  changed  into  a  trot, 
and  the  cavalcade  pushed  toward  Aldgate.  Not 
a  soul  was  in  the  streets  until  they  came  to  the 
city  gate  itself,  where  there  was  the  usual  guard. 
They  passed  through  and  came  up  to  the  "  Wool- 
sack," a  large  inn  which  was  just  outside  the  wall. 
In  the  light  of  the  torches  Commendone  could  see 
that  the  place  was  obviously  one  of  considerable 
importance,  and  had  probably  been  a  gentleman's 
house  in  the  past. 

Large  square  windows  divided  into  many  lights 
by  mullions  and  transoms  took  up  the  whole  of  the 
front.  The  roofs  were  ornamental,  richly  crocketed 
and  finialed,  while  there  was  a  blazonry  of  painted 
heraldry  and  coats  of  arms  over  and  around  the 
large  central  porch.  Large  stacks  of  tall,  slender 
chimney-shafts,  moulded  and  twisted,  rose  up  into 
the  dark,  and  were  ornamented  over  their  whole 
surface  with  diaper  patterns  and  more  armorial 
bearings.  The  big  central  door  of  the  "  Woolsack  " 
stood  open,  and  a  ruddy  light  beamed  out  from  the 
hall  and  from  the  windows  upon  the  ground-floor. 
As  they  came  up,  and  Sir  John  Shelton  stumbled 
from  his  horse,  holding  the  King's  stirrup  for  him 
to  dismount,  Commendone  saw  that  the  space  in 
front  of  the  inn,  a  wide  square  with  a  little  trodden 
green  in  the  centre  of  it,  held  groups  of  dark  figures 
standing  here  and  there. 

Halberds  rose  up  against  the  walls  of  the  houses, 
showing  distinctly  in  the  occasional  light  from  a 
cresset  held  by  a  man-at-arms. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  63 

Sir  John  Shelton  strode  noisily  into  a  big  panelled 
hall,  the  King  and  Commendone  following  him, 
Johnnie  realising  that,  of  course,  His  Highness  was 
incognito. 

The  host  of  the  inn,  Putton,  hurried  forward, 
and  behind  him  was  one  of  the  Sheriffs  of  London, 
who  held  some  papers  in  his  hand  and  greeted  Sir 
John  Shelton  with  marked  civility. 

The  knight  pulled  himself  together,  and  shook 
the  Sheriff  by  the  hand. 

"  Is  everything  prepared,"  he  said,  "  Mr. 
Sheriff?" 

'  We  are  all  quite  ready,  Sir  John,"  the  Sheriff 
answered,  looking  with  inquiring  eyes  at  Commen- 
done and  the  tall,  muffled  figure  of  the  King. 

"  Two  gentlemen  of  the  Court  who  have  been 
deputed  by  Her  Grace  to  see  justice  done," 
Sir  John  said.  "  And  now  we  will  to  the  priso- 
ner." 

Putton  stepped  forward.  "  This  way,  gentle- 
men," he  said.  "  Dr.  Taylor  is  with  his  guards  in 
the  large  room.  He  hath  taken  a  little  succory 
pottage  and  a  flagon  of  ale,  and  seemeth  resigned 
and  ready  to  set  out." 

With  that  the  host  opened  a  door  upon  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  hall  and  ushered  the  party  into  a 
room  which  was  used  as  the  ordinary  of  the  inn,  a 
lofty  and  spacious  place  lit  with  candles. 

There  was  a  high  carved  chimney-piece,  over 
which  were  the  arms  of  the  Vintners'  Company, 
sable  and  chevron  cetu,  three  tuns  argent,  with  the 


64  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

figure  of  Bacchus  for  a  crest.  A  long  table  ran 
down  the  centre  of  the  place,  and  at  one  end  of  it, 
seated  in  a  large  chair  of  oak,  sat  the  late  Arch- 
deacon of  Exeter.  Three  or  four  guards  stood 
round  in  silence. 

Dr.  Rowland  Taylor  was  a  huge  man,  over  six 
feet  in  height,  and  more  than  a  little  corpulent. 
His  face,  which  was  very  pale,  was  strongly  cast, 
his  eyes,  under  shaggy  white  brows,  bright  and 
humorous;  the  big,  genial  mouth,  half-hidden  by 
the  white  moustache  and  beard,  both  kindly  and 
strong.  He  wore  a  dark  gown  and  a  flat  velvet 
cap  upon  his  head,  and  he  rose  immediately  as  the 
company  entered. 

'  We  are  come  for  you,  Dr.  Taylor,"  the  Sheriff 
said,  "  and  you  must  immediately  to  horse." 

The  big  man  bowed,  with  quiet  self-possession. 

"Tis  very  well,  Master  Sheriff,"  he  said;  "I 
have  been  waiting  this  half-hour  agone." 

"  Bring  him  out,"  said  Sir  John  Shelton,  in  a 
loud,  harsh  voice.  "  Keep  silence,  Master  Taylor, 
or  I  will  find  a  way  to  silence  thee." 

John  Commendone  shivered  with  disgust  as  the 
leader  of  the  party  spoke. 

Even  as  he  did  so  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  arm, 
and  the  tall,  muffled  figure  of  the  King  stood  close 
behind  him. 

"  Tell  the  knight,  senor,"  the  King  said  rapidly 
in  Spanish,  "  to  use  the  gentleman  with  more 
civility.  He  is  to  die,  as  is  well  fitting  a  heretic 
should  die,  for  God's  glory  and  the  safety  of  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  65 

realm.  But  he  is  of  gentle  birth.  Tell  Sir  John 
Shelton." 

Commendone  stepped  up  to  Sir  John.  "  Sir," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  which,  try  as  he  would,  he  could 
not  keep  from  being  very  disdainful  and  cold — 
"  Sir,  His  Highness  bids  me  to  tell  you  to  use  Dr. 
Taylor  with  civility,  as  becomes  a  man  of  his 
birth." 

The  half-drunken  captain  glared  at  the  cool 
young  courtier  for  a  moment,  but  he  said  nothing, 
and,  turning  on  his  heel,  clanked  out  of  the  room 
with  a  rattle  of  his  sword  and  an  aggressive,  ruf- 
fling manner. 

Dr.  Taylor,  with  guards  on  each  side,  the  Sheriff 
immediately  preceding  him,  walked  down  the  room 
and  out  into  the  hall. 

Commendone  and  the  King  came' last. 

Johnnie  was  seized  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of 
feeling  towards  his  master.  This  man,  cruel  and 
bigoted  as  he  was,  the  man  whom  he  had  seen  with 
fanaticism  and  the  blood  lust  blazing  in  his  eye, 
the  man  whom  he  had  seen  calmly  leaving  a  vile 
house,  was  nevertheless  a  king  and  a  gentleman. 
The  young  man  could  hardly  understand  or  realise 
the  extraordinary  combination  of  qualities  in  the 
austere  figure  by  his  side  of  the  man  who  ruled  half 
the  known  world.  Again,  he  felt  that  sense  of  awe, 
almost  of  fear,  in  the  presence  of  one  so  far  re- 
moved from  ordinary  men,  so  swift  in  his  altera- 
tions from  coarseness  to  kingliness,  from  relentless 
cruelty  to  cold,  sombre  decorum. 


66  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Dr.  Taylor  was  mounted  upon  a  stout  cob, 
closely  surrounded  by  guards,  and  with  a  harsh 
word  of  command  from  Sir  John,  the  party  set 
out. 

The  host  of  the  "  Woolsack  "  stood  at  his  lighted 
door,  where  there  was  a  little  group  of  serving- 
men  and  halberdiers,  sharply  outlined  against  the 
red-litten  facade  of  the  quaint  old  building,  and 
then,  as  they  turned  a  corner,  it  all  flashed  away, 
and  they  went  forward  quietly  and  steadily  through 
a  street  of  tall  gabled  houses. 

Directly  the  lights  of  the  inn  and  the  square  in 
front  of  it  were  left  behind,  they  saw  at  once  that 
dawn  was  about  to  begin.  The  houses  were  grey 
now,  each  moment  more  grey  and  ghostly,  and 
they  were  no  longer  sable  and  shapeless.  The  air, 
too,  had  a  slight  stir  and  chill  within  it,  and  each 
moment  of  their  advance  the  ghostly  light  grew 
stronger,  more  wan  and  spectral  than  ever  the  dark 
had  been. 

Pursuant  to  his  instructions,  Commendone  kept 
close  to  the  King,  who  rode  silently  with  a  drooping 
head,  as  one  lost  in  thought.  In  front  of  them 
were  the  backs  of  the  guards  in  their  steel  corselets, 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  group  was  the  massive 
figure  of  the  man  who  was  riding  to  his  death,  a 
huge,  black  outline,  erect  and  dignified. 

John  rode  with  the  rest  as  a  man  in  a  dream. 
His  mind  and  imagination  were  in  a  state  in  which 
the  moving  figures  around  him,  the  cavalcade  of 
which  he  himself  was  a  part,  seemed  but  phantoms 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  67 

playing  fantastic  parts  upon  the  stage  of  some  un- 
real theatre  of  dreams. 

He  heard  once  more  the  great  man-like  voice 
of  Queen  Mary,  but  it  seemed  very  far  away,  a 
sinister  thing,  echoing  from  a  time  long  past. 

The  music  of  the  dance  in  the  Palace  tinkled 
and  vibrated  through  his  sub-conscious  brain,  and 
then  once  more  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  evil  old 
woman  of  the  red  house,  the  voice  of  one  in  hell, 
telling  him  to  flee  youthful  lusts,  telling  him  to  wait 
stainless  until  love  should  come  to  him. 

Love !  He  smiled  unconsciously  to  himself. 
Love ! — why  should  the  thoughts  of  love  come 
to  a  heart-whole  man  riding  upon  this  sad  errand 
of  death;  through  ghostly  streets,  stark  and 
grey?  ... 

He  looked  up  dreamily  and  saw  before  him, 
cutting  into  a  sky  which  was  now  big  and  tremu- 
lous with  dawn,  the  tower  of  St.  Botolph's  Church, 
a  faint,  misty  purple.  Far  away  in  the  east  the 
sky  was  faintly  streaked  with  pink  and  orange, 
the  curtain  of  the  dark  was  shaken  by  the  birth- 
pangs  of  the  morning.  The  western  sky  over  St. 
Paul's  was  already  aglow  with  a  red,  reflected  light. 

The  transition  was  extraordinarily  sudden. 
Every  instant  the  aspect  of  things  changed;  the 
whole  visible  world  was  being  re-created,  second 
by  second,  not  gradually,  but  with  a  steady,  press- 
ing onrush,  in  which  time  seemed  merged  and  for- 
gotten, to  be  of  no  account  at  all,  and  a  thing  that 
was  not. 


68  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Johnnie  had  seen  the  great  copper-coloured  moon 
heave  itself  out  of  the  sea  just  like  that — the  world 
turning  to  splendour  before  his  eyes. 

But  it  was  dawn  now,  and  in  the  miraculously 
clear,  inspiring  light,  the  countless  towers  and  pin- 
nacles of  the  city  rose  with  sharp  outline  into  the 
quiet  sky. 

The  breeze  from  the  river  rustled  and  whispered 
by  them  like  the  trailing  skirts  of  unseen  presences, 
and  as  the  cool  air  in  all  its  purity  came  over  the 
silent  town,  the  feverishness  and  sense  of  unreality 
in  the  young  man's  mind  were  dissolved  and  blown 
away. 

How  silent  London  was! — the  broad  street 
stretched  out  before  them  like  a  ribbon  of  silver- 
grey,  but  the  tower  of  St.  Botolph's  was  already 
solid  stone,  and  no  longer  mystic  purple. 

And  then,  for  some  reason  or  other,  John  Com- 
mendone's  heart  began  to  beat  furiously.  He 
could  not  have  said  why  or  how.  There  seemed  no 
reason  to  account  for  it,  but  all  his  pulses  were 
stirred.  A  sense  of  expectancy,  which  was  painful 
in  its  intensity,  and  unlike  anything  he  had  ever 
known  before  in  his  life,  pervaded  all  his  con- 
sciousness. 

He  gripped  his  horse  by  the  knees,  his  left  hand 
holding  the  leather  reins,  hung  with  little  tassels 
of  vermilion  silk,  his  right  hand  resting  upon  the 
handle  of  his  sword. 

They  came  up  to  the  porch  of  the  church,  and 
suddenly  the  foremost  men-at-arms  halted,  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  69 

slight  backward  movement  of  their  horses  sending 
those  who  followed  backward  also.  There  was 
a  pawing  of  hooves,  a  rattle  of  accoutrements,  a 
sharp  order  from  somewhere  in  front,  and  then 
they  were  all  sitting  motionless. 

The  moment  had  arrived.  John  Commendone 
saw  what  he  had  come  to  see.  From  that  instant 
his  real  life  began.  All  that  had  gone  before,  as 
he  saw  in  after  years,  had  been  but  a  leading  up 
and  preparation  for  this  time. 

Standing  just  outside  the  porch  of  the  church 
was  a  small  group  of  figures,  clustering  together, 
white  faces,  pitiful  and  forlorn. 

Dr.  Taylor's  wife,  suspecting  that  her  husband 
should  that  night  be  carried  away,  had  watched 
all  night  in  St.  Botolph's  porch,  having  with  her 
her  two  children,  and  a  man-servant  of  their 
house. 

The  men-at-arms  had  opened  out  a  little,  re- 
maining quite  motionless  on  their  horses. 

Sir  John  Shelton,  obviously  mindful  of  Com- 
mendone's  warning  at  the  "  Woolsack,"  remained 
silent  also,  his  blotched  face  grey  and  scowling  in 
the  dawn,  though  he  said  no  word. 

The  King  pulled  his  hat  further  over  his  eyes, 
and  Johnnie  at  his  right  could  see  perfectly  all  that 
was  happening. 

He  heard  a  voice,  a  girl's  voice. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  father!  Mother!  mother!  here 
is  my  father  led  away." 

Almost  every  one  who  has  lived  from  any  depth 


70  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

of  being,  for  whom  the  world  is  no  grossly  ma- 
terial place,  but  a  state  which  is  constantly  im- 
pinged upon  and  mingles  with  the  Unseen,  must 
be  conscious  that  at  one  time  or  other  of  his  life 
sound  has  been,  perhaps,  the  most  predominant  in- 
fluence in  it. 

Now  and  again,  at  rare  and  memorable  intervals, 
the  grossness  of  this  tabernacle  wherein  the  soul 
is  encased  is  pierced  by  sound.  More  than  all 
else,  sound  penetrates  deep  into  the  spiritual  con- 
sciousness, punctuates  life,  as  it  were,  at  rare  mo- 
ments of  emotion,  gathering  up  and  crystallising  a 
thousand  fancies  and  feelings  which  seem  to  have 
no  adequate  cause  among  outward  things. 

Johnnie  had  heard  the  sound  of  his  mother's 
voice,  as  she  lay  dying — a  dry,  whispering,  husky 
sound,  never  to  be  forgotten,  as  she  said,  "  Johnnie, 
promise  mother  to  be  good;  promise  me  to  be 
good."  He  had  heard  the  sweet  sound  of  the  death 
mort  winded  by  the  huntsman  in  the  park  of  Com- 
mendone,  as  he  had  run  down  his  first  stag — in  the 
voice  of  the  girl  who  cried  out  with  anguish  in 
the  pure  morning  light,  he  heard  for  the  third 
or  fourth  time,  a  sound  which  would  always  be 
part  of  his  life. 

"  O,  my  dear  father!  Mother!  mother!  here  is 
my  father  led  away." 

She  was  a  tall  girl,  in  a  long  grey  cloak. 

Her  hair,  growing  low  upon  her  forehead,  and 
very  thick,  was  the  colour  of  ripe  corn.  Great 
eyes  of  a  deep  blue,  like  cut  sapphire,  shone  in 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  71 

the  dead  white  oval  of  her  face.  The  parted  lips 
were  a  scarlet  eloquence  of  agony. 

By  her  side  was  a  tall,  grey-haired  dame,  trem- 
bling exceedingly. 

One  delicate  white  hand  flickered  before  the 
elder  woman's  eyes,  all  blind  with  tears  and 
anguish. 

Then  the  Doctor's  wife  cried,  "  Rowland,  Row- 
land, where  art  thou?" 

Dr.  Taylor  answered,  "  Dear  wife,  I  am  here." 

Then  she  came  to  him,  and  he  took  a  younger 
girl,  who  had  been  clinging  to  her  mother's  skirts, 
his  little  daughter  Mary,  in  his  arms,  dismounting 
from  his  horse  as  he  did  so,  with  none  to  stay 
him.  He,  his  wife,  and  the  tall  girl  Elizabeth, 
knelt  down  and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

At  the  sight  of  it  the  Sheriff  wept  apace,  and 
so  did  divers  others  of  the  company,  and  the  salt 
tears  ran  down  Johnnie's  cheeks  and  splashed  upon 
his  breast-plate. 

After  they  had  prayed  Dr.  Taylor  rose  up  and 
kissed  his  wife,  and  shook  her  by  the  hand,  and 
said :  "  Farewell,  my  dear  wife,  be  of  good  comfort, 
for  I  am  quiet  in  my  conscience.  God  shall  stir 
up  a  father  for  my  children." 

After  that  he  kissed  his  daughter  Mary  and 
said,  "  God  bless  thee  and  make  thee  His  servant," 
and  kissing  Elizabeth  also  he  said,  "  God  bless 
thee.  I  pray  you  all  stand  strong  and  steadfast 
unto  Christ  His  Word,  and  keep  you  from 
idolatry." 


72  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  tall  lady  clung  to  him,  weeping  bitterly. 
"God  be  with  thee,  dear  Rowland,"  she  said; 
"  I  shall,  with  God's  grace,  meet  thee  anon  in 
heaven." 

Then  Johnnie  saw  the  serving-man,  a  broad, 
thick-set  fellow,  with  a  keen,  brown  face,  who  had 
been  standing  a  little  apart,  come  up  to  Dr.  Taylor. 
He  was  holding  by  the  hand  a  little  boy  of  ten 
years  or  so,  with  wide,  astonished  eyes,  Thomas,  the 
Doctor's  son. 

When  Dr.  Taylor  saw  them  he  called  them,  say- 
ing, "  Come  hither,  my  son  Thomas." 

John  Hull  lifted  the  child,  and  sat  him  upon 
the  saddle  of  the  horse  by  which  his  father  stood, 
and  I)r.  Taylor  put  off  his  hat,  and  said  to  the 
members  of  the  party  that  stood  there  looking  at 
him :  "  Good  people,  this  is  mine  own  son,  begotten 
of  my  body  in  lawful  matrimony;  and  God  be 
blessed  for  lawful  matrimony." 

Johnnie  upon  his  horse  was  shaking  uncon- 
trollably, but  at  these  last  words  he  heard  an  impa- 
tient jingle  of  accoutrements  by  his  side,  and 
looking,  saw  that  the  face  of  His  Highness  was 
fierce  and  angry  that  an  ordained  priest  should 
speak  thus  of  wedlock. 

But  this  was  only  for  a  passing  moment;  the 
young  man's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  great  clergy- 
man again  in  an  instant. 

The  priest  lifted  up  his  eyes  towards  heaven,  and 
prayed  for  his  son.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
child's  head  and  blessed  him;  and  so  delivered  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  73 

child  to  John  Hull,  whom  he  took  by  the  hand  and 
said,  "  Farewell,  John  Hull,  the  faithfullest  serv- 
ant that  ever  man  had." 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sobbing 
of  women  and  a  low  murmur  of  sympathy  from  the 
rough  men-at-arms. 

Sir  John  Shelton  heard  it  and  glanced  quickly 
at  the  muffled  figure  of  the  King. 

It  was  a  shrewd,  penetrating  look,  and  well 
understood  by  His  Highness.  This  natural  emo- 
tion of  the  escort,  at  such  a  sad  and  painful  scene, 
might  well  prove  a  leaven  which  would  work  in 
untutored  minds.  There  must  be  no  more  sym- 
pathy for  heretics.  Sir  John  gave  a  harsh  order, 
the  guard  closed  in  upon  Dr.  Taylor,  there  was  a 
loud  cry  from  the  Archdeacon's  wife  as  she  fell 
fainting  into  the  arms  of  the  sturdy  servant,  and 
the  cavalcade  proceeded  at  a  smart  pace.  John 
looked  round  once,  and  this  is  what  he  saw — the 
tall  figure  of  Elizabeth  Taylor,  fixed  and  rigid, 
the  lovely  face  set  in  a  stare  of  horror  and  unspeak- 
able grief,  a  star  of  sorrow  as  the  dawn  reddened 
and  day  began. 

And  now,  as  they  left  London,  the  progress  was 
more  rapid,  the  stern  business  upon  which  they 
were  engaged  looming  up  and  becoming  more  im- 
minent every  moment,  the  big  man  in  the  centre  of 
the  troop  being  hurried  relentlessly  to  his  end. 

And  so  they  rode  forth  to  Brentwood,  where, 
during  a  short  stay,  Sir  John  Shelton  and  his  men 
caused  to  be  made  for  Dr.  Taylor  a  close  hood, 


74  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

with  two  holes  for  his  eyes  to  look  out  at,  and  a 
slit  for  his  mouth  to  breathe  at.  This  they  did  that 
no  man  in  the  pleasant  country  ways,  the  villages 
or  little  towns,  should  speak  to  him,  nor  he  to  any 
man. 

It  was  a  practice  that  they  had  used  with  others, 
and  very  wise  and  politic. 

"  For,"  says  a  chronicler  of  the  time,  "  their 
own  consciences  told  them  that  they  led  innocent 
lambs  to  the  slaughter.  Wherefore  they  feared 
lest  if  the  people  should  have  heard  them  speak 
or  have  seen  them,  they  might  have  been  more 
strengthened  by  their  godly  exhortations  to  stand 
steadfast  in  God's  Word,  to  fly  the  superstitions 
and  idolatries  of  the  Papacy." 

All  the  way  Dr.  Taylor  was  joyful  and  merry, 
as  one  that  accounted  himself  going  to  a  most 
pleasant  banquet  or  bridal.  He  said  many  notable 
things  to  the  Sheriff  and  the  yeomen  of  the  guard 
that  conducted  him,  and  often  moved  them  to  weep 
through  his  much  earnest  calling  upon  them  to  re- 
pent and  to  amend  their  evil  and  wicked  living. 
Oftentimes,  also,  he  caused  them  to  wonder  and 
rejoice,  to  see  him  so  constant  and  steadfast,  void 
of  all  fear,  joyful  in  heart,  and  glad  to  die.  At 
one  time  during  their  progress  he  said:  "  I  will  tell 
you,  I  have  been  deceived,  and,  as  I  think,  I  shall 
deceive  a  great  many.  I  am,  as  you  see,  a  man  that 
hath  a  very  great  carcase,  which  I  thought  would 
have  been  buried  in  Hadley  churchyard,  if  I  died 
in  my  bed,  as  I  well  hoped  I  should  have  done;  but 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  75 

herein  I  see  I  was  deceived.  And  there  are  a 
great  number  of  worms  in  Hadley  churchyard, 
which  should  have  had  a  jolly  feed  upon  this  car- 
rion, which  they  have  looked  for  many  a  day.  But 
now  I  know  we  are  to  be  deceived,  both  I  and  they; 
for  this  carcase  must  be  burnt  to  ashes;  and  so  shall 
they  lose  their  bait  and  feeding,  that  they  looked  to 
have  had  of  it." 

Sir  John  Shelton,  who  was  riding  by  the  side 
of  Commendone,  and  who  was  now  sober  enough, 
the  wine  of  his  midnight  revels  having  died  from 
him,  turned  to  Johnnie  with  a  significant  grin  as 
he  heard  Dr.  Taylor  say  this  to  his  guards. 

Shelton  was  coarse,  overbearing,  and  a  black- 
guard, but  he  had  a  keen  mind  of  a  sort,  and  was 
of  gentle  birth. 

"  Listen  to  this  curtail  dog,  Mr.  Commendone," 
he  said,  with  a  sneer.  "  A  great  loss  to  the  Church, 
i'  faith.  He  talketh  like  some  bully-rook  or  clown 
of  the  streets.  And  these  are  the  men  who  in  their 
contumacy  and  their  daring  deny  the  truth  of  Holy 
Church "  He  spat  upon  the  ground  with  dis- 
gust. 

Commendone  nodded  gravely.  His  insight  was 
keener  far  than  the  other's.  He  saw,  in  what 
Bishop  Heber  afterwards  called  "  the  coarse 
vigour  "  of  the  Archdeacon's  pleasantry,  no  fool- 
ish irreverence  indeed,  but  the  racy  English  courage 
and  humour  of  a  saintly  man,  resolved  to  meet  his 
earthly  doom  brightly,  and  to  be  an  example  to 
common  men. 


76  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Johnnie  was  the  son  of  a  bluff  Kentish  squire. 
He  knew  the  English  soil,  and  all  the  stoic  hardy 
virtues,  the  racy  mannerisms  which  spring  from 
it.  Courtier  and  scholar,  a  man  of  exquisite  refine- 
ment, imbued  with  no  small  share  of  foreign  grace 
and  courtliness,  there  was  yet  a  side  of  him  which 
was  thoroughly  English.  He  saw  deeper  than  the 
coarse-mouthed  captain  at  his  side. 

The  voices  of  those  who  had  gathered  round 
the  porch  of  St.  Botolph's  without  Aldgate  still 
rang  in  his  ears. 

The  Sheriff  and  his  company,  when  they  heard 
Dr.  Rowland  Taylor  jesting  in  this  way,  were 
amazed,  and  looked  one  at  another,  marvelling  at 
the  man's  constant  mind,  that  thus,  without  any 
fear,  made  but  a  jest  at  the  cruel  torment  and  death 
now  at  hand  prepared  for  him. 

The  sun  clomb  the  sky,  the  woods  were  green, 
the  birds  were  all  at  matins.  Through  many  a 
shady  village  they  passed  where  the  ripening  corn 
rustled  in  the  breeze,  the  wood  smoke  went  up  in 
blue  lines  from  cottage  and  manor  house,  the  clink 
of  the  forge  rang  out  into  the  street  as  the  black- 
smiths lit  their  fires,  the  milkmaids  strode  out  to 
find  the  lowing  kine  in  the  pastures.  It  was  a 
brilliant  happy  morning  as  they  rode  along  through 
the  green  lanes,  a  very  bridal  morning  indeed. 

When  they  were  come  within  two  miles  of  Had- 
ley,  Dr.  Taylor  desired  for  a  while  to  light  off  his 
horse.  They  let  him  do  it,  and  the  Sheriff  at  his 
request  ordered  the  hood  to  be  removed  from  him. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  77 

The  whole  troop  halted  for  a  minute  or  two, 
and  the  Doctor,  says  the  chronicler,  "  leaped  and 
set  a  frisk  or  twain  as  men  commonly  do  in  danc- 
ing. 'Why,  Master  Doctor,'  quoth  the  Sheriff, 
'  how  do  you  now  ?  '  He  answered,  '  Well,  God  be 
praised,  good  Master  Sheriff,  never  better;  for  now 
I  know  I  am  almost  at  home.  I  have  not  pass  two 
stiles  to  go  over,  and  I  am  even  at  my  father's 
house.' 

"  '  But,  Master  Sheriff,'  said  he,  '  shall  we  not 
go  through  Hadley?' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  the  Sheriff,  '  you  shall  go  through 
Hadley.' 

"  '  Then,'  said  he,  '  O  good  Lord !  I  thank  Thee, 
I  shall  yet  once  more  ere  I  die  see. my  flock,  whom 
Thou,  Lord,  knowest  I  have  most  heartily  loved 
and  truly  taught.  Good  Lord !  bless  them  and  keep 
them  steadfast  in  Thy  word  and  truth.' ' 

The  streets  of  Hadley  were  beset  on  both  sides 
of  the  way  with  women  and  men  of  the  town  and 
the  country-side  around,  who  awaited  to  see  Dr. 
Taylor. 

As  the  troop  passed  by,  now  at  walking  pace, 
when  the  people  beheld  their  old  friend  led  to 
death  in  this  way,  their  voices  were  raised  in  lamen- 
tation and  there  was  great  weeping. 

On  all  sides  John  Commendone  heard  the  broad 
homely  Suffolk  voices,  lifted  high  in  sorrow. 

"  Ah,  good  Lord,"  said  one  fat  farmer's  wife 
to  her  man,  "  there  goeth  our  good  shepherd  from 
us  that  so  faithfully  hath  taught  us,  so  fatherly 


78  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

hath  cared  for  us,  so  godly  hath  governed 
us." 

And  again,  the  landlord  of  the  "  Three  Cranes  " 
at  Hadley,  where  the  troop  stopped  for  a  moment 
to  water  their  horses  at  the  trough  before  the  inn, 
and  the  country  people  surged  and  crowded  round : 
"  O  merciful  God;  what  shall  we  poor  scattered 
lambs  do?  What  shall  come  of  this  most  wicked 
world!  Good  Lord!  strengthen  him  and  comfort 
him.  Alack,  dear  Doctor,  may  the  Lord  help 
thee !  " 

The  great  man  upon  his  horse,  towering  above 
the  yeomen  of  the  guard  who  surrounded  him, 
lifted  his  hand. 

"  Friends,"  he  said,  "  and  neighbours  all,  grieve 
not  for  me.  I  have  preached  to  you  God's  word  and 
truth,  and  am  come  this  day  to  seal  it  with  my 
blood." 

Johnnie  would  have  thought  that  the  people  who 
bore  such  an  obvious  love  for  their  rector,  and  who 
now  numbered  several  hundreds — sturdy  country- 
men all — would  have  raised  an  outcry  against  the 
Sheriff  and  his  officers.  Many  of  them  had  stout 
cudgels  in  their  hands,  some  of  them  bore  forks 
with  which  they  were  going  to  the  fields,  but  there 
was  very  little  anger.  The  people  were  cowed, 
that  was  very  plain  to  see.  The  power  of  the  law 
struck  fear  into  them  still;  the  long,  unquestioned 
despotism  of  Henry  VIII  still  exercised  its  sway 
over  simple  minds.  Now  and  again,  as  the  horses 
were  being  watered,  a  fierce  snarl  of  anger  came 
I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  79 

from  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd.  Commendone 
himself,  with  his  somewhat  foreign  appearance,  and 
the  tall,  muffled  figure  of  the  King,  excited  mur- 
murs and  insults. 

u  They  be  Spaniards,"  one  fellow  cried,  "  they 
two  be — Spaniards  from  the  Queen's  Papist 
husband.  How  like  you  this  work,  Master 
Don?" 

But  that  was  all.  Once  Sir  John  Shelton  looked 
with  some  apprehension  at  the  King,  but  the  King 
understood  nothing,  and  though  the  sturdy  country- 
folk in  their  numbers  might  well  have  overcome 
the  guard,  a  rescue  was  obviously  not  thought  of 
nor  was  the  slightest  attempt  at  it  made. 

All  this  was  quite  homely  and  natural  to  Johnnie. 
He  felt  with  the  people;  he  had  spent  his  life  in  the 
country.  Down  at  quiet,  retired  Commendone  his 
father  and  he  were  greatly  loved  by  all  the  farmers 
and  peasants  of  the  estate.  His  mother — that 
graceful  Spanish  lady — had  endeared  herself  for 
many  years  to  the  simple  folk  of  Kent.  Old  Father 
Chilches  had  said  Mass  in  the  chapel  at  Commen- 
done for  many  years  without  let  or  hindrance. 
Catholic  as  the  house  of  Commendone  had  always 
been,  there  was  nothing  bigoted  or  fanatical  in 
their  religion.  And  now  the  young  man's  heart  was 
stirred  to  its  very  depths  as  this  homely  rustic  folk 
lifted  up  their  voices  in  sorrow. 

Even  then,  however,  he  questioned  nothing  in 
his  mind  of  the  justice  of  what  was  to  be  done. 
Despite  the  infinite  pity  he  felt  for  this  good 


80  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

pastor  who  was  to  die  and  his  flock  who  grieved 
him  so,  he  was  yet  perfectly  loyal  in  his  mind  to 
the  power  which  ordained  the  execution,  part  of 
whose  machinery  he  was.  The  Queen  had  said 
so;  the  monarch  could  do  no  wrong.  There  were 
reasons  of  State,  reasons  of  polity,  reasons  of  re- 
ligion which  he  himself  was  not  competent  to  enter 
into  or  to  discuss,  but  which  he  accepted  blindly 
then. 

And  so,  as  they  moved  onwards  towards  Aid- 
ham  Common,  where  the  final  scene  was  to  be  en- 
acted, he  moved  with  the  others,  one  of  the 
ministers  of  doom. 

And  through  all  the  bright  morning  air,  through 
the  cries  and  tears  of  the  country-folk,  he  heard 
one  voice,  the  voice  of  a  girl,  he  saw  one  white 
and  lovely  face  ever  before  his  eyes. 

When  they  came  to  Aldham  Common  there  was 
a  great  multitude  of  people  gathered  there. 

"  What  place  is  this?  "  Dr.  Taylor  asked,  with 
a  smile,  though  he  knew  very  well.  "  And  what 
meaneth  it  that  so  much  people  are  gathered  to- 
gether?" 

The  Sheriff,  who  was  a  stranger  to  this  part  of 
the  country,  and  who  was  very  agitated  and  upset, 
answered  him  with  eager  and  deprecating  civility. 
"  It  is  Aldham  Common,  Dr.  Taylor,  the  place 
where  you  must  suffer;  and  the  people  are  come 
to  look  upon  you."  The  good  man  hardly  knew 
what  he  was  saying. 

Dr.  Taylor  smiled  once  more. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  81 

"  Thanked  be  God,"  he  said,  "  I  am  even  at 
home,"  and  alighted  from  his  horse. 

Sir  John  Shelton,  who  also  dismounted,  snatched 
the  hat  from  the  Doctor's  head,  which  was  shown 
to  be  clipped  close,  like  a  horse's  back  in  summer 
time — a  degradation  which  Bishop  Bonner  had 
caused  to  be  performed  upon  him  the  night  before 
as  a  mean  and  vulgar  revenge  for  the  Doctor's 
words  to  him  at  the  ceremony  of  his  degradation. 

But  when  the  people  saw  Dr.  Taylor's  reverent 
and  ancient  face  and  his  long  white  beard,  they 
burst  into  louder  weeping  than  ever,  and  cried, 
"God  save  thee,  good  Dr.  Taylor!  Jesus  Christ 
strengthen  thee,  and  help  thee;  the  Holy  Ghost 
comfort  thee,"  and  many  other  suchlike  godly 
wishes. 

They  were  now  come  into  the  centre  of  Aldham 
Common,  where  already  a  posse  of  men  sent  by 
the  Sheriff  of  the  county  were  keeping  a  space 
clear  round  a  tall  post  which  had  been  set  into 
the  ground,  and  which  was  the  stake. 

Sir  John  Shelton,  who  now  assumed  complete 
command  of  the  proceedings,  gave  several  loud 
orders.  The  people  were  pressed  back  with  oaths 
and  curses  by  the  yeomen  of  the  escort,  and  Dr. 
Taylor  was  hurried  quickly  towards  the  stake. 

The  long  ride  from  London  had  not  been  with- 
out a  certain  quiet  and  dignity;  but  from  this 
moment  everything  that  was  done  was  rude,  hur- 
ried, and  violent.  The  natural  brutality  of  Shelton 
and  his  men  blazed  up  suddenly.  What  before  had 


82  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

been  ineffably  sad  was  now  changed  to  horror,  as 
John  Commendone  sat  his  horse  by  the  side  of  the 
man  whose  safety  he  was  there  to  guard,  and 
watched  the  final  scene. 

Dr.  Taylor,  who  was  standing  by  the  stake  and 
disrobing,  wished  to  speak  to  the  people,  but  the 
yeomen  of  the  guard  were  so  busy  about  him  that 
as  soon  as  he  opened  his  mouth  one  or  another  of 
these  fellows  thrust  a  fist  or  tipstaff  into  his  mouth. 
They  were  round  him  like  a  pack  of  dogs,  snarl- 
ing, buffeting  him,  making  him  feel  indeed  the 
bitterness  of  death. 

This  was  done  by  Sir  John  Shelton's  orders,  no 
doubt  committed  to  him  from  London,  for  it  was 
obvious  that  any  popular  feeling  in  the  martyr's 
favour  must  be  suppressed  as  soon  as  possibly 
could  be  done. 

If  Dr.  Taylor  had  been  allowed  to  speak  to  the 
surging  crowd  that  knew  and  loved  him,  the  well- 
known  voice,  the  familiar  and  beloved  exhortations 
might  well  have  aroused  a  fury  against  the  minis- 
ters of  the  law  which  they  would  be  powerless  to 
withstand. 

Dr.  Taylor  himself  seemed  to  recognise  this, 
for  he  sat  down  upon  a  stool  which  was  placed 
near  the  stake  and  did  not  offer  to  speak  again. 
He  looked  round  while  three  or  four  ill-favoured 
fellows  in  leather  were  bringing  up  bundles  of 
furze  and  freshly  cut  faggots  to  the  stake,  and  as 
he  was  obviously  not  about  to  address  the  people, 
the  guard  was  a  little  relaxed. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  83 

He  saw  pressing  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd 
an  old  countryman,  with  a  brown  wrinkled  face. 

"  Soyce,"  he  called  out  cheerily,  "  I  pray  thee 
come  and  pull  off  my  boots,  and  take  them  for  thy 
labour.  Thou  hast  long  looked  for  them,  now  take 
them." 

The  ancient  fellow,  who  was  indeed  the  sexton 
of  Hadley  Church,  came  trembling  up,  and  did  as 
the  rector  asked. 

Then  Dr.  Taylor  rose  up,  and  put  off  his  clothes 
unto  his  shirt,  and  gave  them  away.  Which  done, 
he  said  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Good  people !  I  have 
taught  you  nothing  but  God's  Holy  Word  and 
those  lessons  that  I  have  taken  out  of  God's  blessed 
Book,  the  Holy  Bible." 

He  had  hardly  said  it  when  a  sergeant  of  the 
guard,  named  Homes,  gave  him  a  great  stroke 
upon  the  head  with  a  waster,  and  said,  "  Is  that  the 
keeping  of  thy  promise,  thou  heretic?" 

The  venerable  head,  now  stained  with  blood, 
drooped,  and  for  a  moment  the  vitality  and  vigour 
seemed  to  go  from  the  Rector.  He  saw  that  it 
was  utterly  useless,  that  there  was  no  hope  of 
him  being  allowed  to  address  his  folk,  and  so  he 
knelt  down  and  prayed  in  silence. 

While  he  was  praying  a  very  old  woman,  in 
poor  rags,  that  was  standing  among  the  people,  ran 
in  and  knelt  by  his  side,  and  prayed  with  him. 

Homes  caught  hold  of  her  and  tried  to  drag 
her  from  the  Doctor,  but  she  screamed  loudly  and 
clung  to  the  Rector's  knees. 


84  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

'Tread  her  down  with  horses;  tread  her 
down,"  said  Sir  John  Shelton,  his  face  purple  with 
anger. 

But  even  the  knight's  men  would  not  do  it,  and 
there  was  such  a  deep  threatening  murmur  from 
the  crowd  that  Shelton  forbore,  and  the  old  woman 
stayed  there  and  prayed  with  the  Doctor. 

At  last  he  rose,  blessing  her,  and,  dressed  only 
in  his  shirt,  big,  burly,  and  very  dignified,  he  went 
to  the  stake  and  kissed  it,  and  set  himself  into  a 
pitch  barrel,  which  they  had  put  for  him  to  stand 
in. 

He  stood  there  so,  with  his  back  upright  against 
the  stake,  with  his  hands  folded  together,  and  his 
eyes  towards  heaven,  praying  continually. 

Four  men  set  up  the  faggots  and  piled  them 
round  him,  and  one  brought  a  torch  to  make  the 
fire. 

As  the  furze  lit  and  began  to  crackle  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  pile,  the  man  Homes,  either  really  mad 
with  religious  hatred,  or,  as  is  more  probable,  a 
brute,  only  zealous  to  ingratiate  himself  with  his 
commander,  picked  up  a  billet  of  wood  and  cast 
it  most  cruelly  at  the  Doctor.  It  lit  upon  his 
head  and  broke  his  face,  so  that  the  blood  ran 
down  it. 

Then  said  Dr.  Taylor,  "  O  friend,  I  have  harm 
enough;  what  needed  that?" 

Then,  with  Sir  John  Shelton  standing  close  by, 
and  the  people  round  shuddering  with  horror,  the 
Rector  began  to  say  the  Psalm  Miserere  in  English. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  SHAME  85 

Sir  John  shot  out  his  great  red  hand  and 
struck  the  martyr  upon  the  lips  with  his  open 
palm. 

"Ye  knave,"  he  said,  "speak  Latin;  I  will 
make  thee." 

At  that,  John  Commendone,  scarcely  knowing 
what  he  did,  leapt  from  his  horse  and  caught 
Shelton  by  the  shoulder.  With  all  the  strength 
of  his  young  athletic  frame  he  sent  him  spinning 
away  from  the  stake.  Sir  John  staggered,  recov- 
ered himself,  and  with  his  face  blazing  with  anger, 
rushed  at  the  young  man. 

At  that  the  King  suddenly  wheeled  his  horse, 
and  interposed  between  them. 

"  Keep  you  away,  Sir  John,"  he  said  in  Spanish, 
"  that  is  enough." 

The  knight  did  not  understand  the  King's 
words,  but  the  tone  and  the  accent  were  signifi- 
cant. With  a  glare  of  fury  at  Johnnie,  he  slunk 
aside  to  his  men. 

The  calm  voice  of  the  Rector  went  on  reciting 
the  words  of  the  Psalm.  When  it  was  finished 
he  said  the  Gloria,  and  as  the  smoke  rolled  up 
around  him,  and  red  tongues  of  flame  began  to  be 
brightly  visible  in  the  sunlight,  he  held  up  both 
his  hands,  and  said,  "  Merciful  Father  of  heaven, 
for  Jesus  Christ  my  Saviour's  sake,  receive  my 
soul  into  Thy  hands." 

So  stood  he  still  without  either  crying  or  mov- 
ing, with  his  hands  folded  together,  until  sud- 
denly one  of  the  men-at-arms  caught  up  a  halbert 


86  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

and  struck  him  on  the  head  so  that  the  brains  fell 
out,  and  the  corpse  sank  into  the  fire. 

"  Thus,"  says  the  chronicler,  "  the  man  of  God 
gave  his  blessed  soul  into  the  hands  of  his  merciful 
Father,  and  his  most  dear  and  certain  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ,  Whom  he  most  entirely  loved,  faithfully 
and  earnestly  preached,  obediently  followed  in  liv- 
ing, and  constantly  glorified  in  death." 


CHAPTER  III 


JOHN  COMMENDONE,  Sir  John  Shelton,  and  the 
King  of  Spain  walked  up  a  flight  of  broad  stone 
steps,  which  led  to  the  wide-open  door  of  Mr.  Peter 
Lacel's  house  on  the  far  side  of  Aldham  Common. 

It  was  now  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  or 
a  little  after. 

As  soon  as  the  body  of  the  martyr  had  fallen 
into  the  flames,  Sir  John  had  wheeled  round  upon 
his  horse,  and,  attended  by  his  men-,  had  trotted 
away,  breaking  through  the  crowd,  who  had  rushed 
to  the  smouldering  pyre  and  were  pressing  round 
it.  They  had  gone  some  three  hundred  yards  on 
to  the  Common  at  a  quick  pace. 

"  I  don't  like  this  at  all,  Sire,"  Sir  John  had 
muttered  to  the  King.  "  The  people  are  very 
turbulent.  It  will  be  as  well,  I  think,  that  we  go 
to  the  '  Crown.'  It  is  that  large  house  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Common.  There  we  shall  find 
entertainment  and  refreshment,  for  I  am  told  it  is 
a  good  inn  by  a  letter  from  the  Sheriff,  Mr.  Peter 
Lacel — whom  I  had  looked  to  see  here  as  was  duly 
arranged." 

Then  Sir  John  had  stopped  suddenly. 

"  He  cometh,"  he  cried.  "  That  is  Mr.  Lacel 
87 


88  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

with  his  yeomen,"  and  as  the  knight  spoke  Johnnie 
saw  a  little  party  upon  horseback  galloping  to- 
wards them.  Foremost  of  them  was  a  bluff, 
bearded  country  gentleman,  his  face  agitated  and 
concerned. 

"  Good  Sir  John,"  said  the  gentleman  as  he 
reined  up  his  horse,  "  I  would  not  have  had  this 
happen  for  much  money.  I  have  mistook  the  hour, 
and  was  upon  some  county  business  with  two  of 
the  justices  at  my  house.  Is  it  all  over  then? 
Hath  Dr.  Taylor  suffered?" 

'  The  runagate  is  stone  dead,"  Shelton  replied. 
"  It  is  all  over,  and  hath  passed  off  as  well  as  may 
be,  though  I  like  not  very  much  the  demeanour  of 
the  people.  But  how  do  you,  Mr.  Lacel?  " 

"  I  do  very  well,  thank  you,"  the  Sheriff  an- 
swered, "  but  I  hope  much,  Sir  John,  that  this 
mischance  of  mine  will  not  be  accounted  to  me  as 
being  any  lack  of  zeal  to  Her  Grace." 

Shelton  waved  his  hand.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  we 
know  you  very  well,  Mr.  Lacel.  Lack  of  loyalty 
will  never  be  put  to  your  charge.  But  now,  doubt- 
less, you  will  entertain  us,  for  we  have  ridden 
since  early  dawn,  and  are  very  tired." 

Mr.  Lacel's  face  shone  with  relief.  "  Come 
you,  Sir  John,"  he  said,  "  come  you  with  these 
gentlemen  and  your  men  forthwith  to  the  Manor. 
You  must  indeed  be  weary  and  needing  refresh- 
ment. But  what  of  yonder?" 

He  pointed  in  front  of  him,  and  Sir  John  turned 
in  his  saddle. 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL      89 

A  few  hundred  yards  away  a  dense  crowd  was 
swaying,  and  above  their  heads  even  now  was  a 
column  of  yellow  smoke. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  you  there,  Mr.  Lacel," 
Sir  John  replied.  '  The  Sheriff  of  London  and 
his  men  are  doing  all  that  is  needful.  I  am  here 
with  mine,  and  we  shall  all  be  glad  to  taste  your 
hospitality  after  this  business.  This," — he  made 
a  little  gesture  of  the  hand  towards  Johnnie — "  is 
Mr.  Commendone,  Sir  Henry  Commendone's  son, 
of  Kent,  attached  to  the  King's  person,  and  here 
to-day  to  report  of  Dr.  Taylor's  burning  to  the 
Queen.  This  "  —here  he  bowed  towards  Philip — 
"  a  Spanish  nobleman  of  high  degree,  who  is  of 
His  Majesty's  Gentlemen,  and  who  hath  ridden 
with  us." 

"  Bid  ye  welcome,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Lacel, 
"  and  now,  an  ye  will  follow  me,  there  is  break- 
fast ready  in  the  Manor,  and  you  can  forget  this 
nasty  work,  for  I  doubt  none  of  you  like  it  better 
than  myself." 

With  that  the  whole  party  had  trotted  onwards 
towards  the  Sheriff's  house. 

The  men-at-arms  were  met  by  grooms  and  serv- 
ants, and  taken  round  to  the  buttery.  John,  Shel- 
ton,  and  the  King  walked  up  the  steps  and  into  a 
great  hall,  where  a  long  table  was  laid  for  their 
reception. 

The  King,  whose  demeanour  to  his  host  was 
haughty  and  indifferent,  spoke  no  word  at  all,  and 
Sir  John  Shelton  was  in  considerable  embarrass- 


9o  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

ment.  At  all  costs,  the  King's  incognito  must  be 
preserved.  Mr.  Lacel  was  a  Catholic  gentleman 
of  Suffolk,  a  simple,  faithful,  unthinking  country 
squire,  who,  at  the  same  time,  had  some  local 
influence.  It  would  never  do,  however,  to  let 
the  Sheriff  know  that  the  King  himself  was  under 
his  roof,  and  yet  His  Highness's  demeanour  was 
so  reserved  and  cold,  his  face  so  melancholy, 
frozen,  and  inscrutable,  that  Shelton  was  consider- 
ably perplexed.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  great  relief 
that  he  remembered  the  King  spoke  but  little  Eng- 
lish, and  he  took  Mr.  Lacel  aside  while  serving- 
men  were  placing  chairs  at  the  table,  and  whispered 
that  the  Don  was  a  cold,  unlikeable  fellow, 
but  high  in  the  Royal  favour,  and  must  be  con- 
sidered. 

"  Not  a  testoon  care  I,"  Mr.  Lacel  answered. 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  ye,  Sir  John,  and  these  Court 
gallants  from  Spain  disturb  me  not  at  all.  Now, 
sit  ye  down,  sit  ye  down,  and  fall  to." 

They  all  sat  down  at  the  table. 

The  King  took  a  silver  cup  of  wine,  bowed  to 
his  host,  and  sipped.  His  face  was  very  yellow, 
his  eyes  dwindled,  and  a  general  air  of  cold  and 
lassitude  pervaded  him.  Suddenly  he  turned  to 
Commendone,  who  was  sitting  by  his  side  watching 
his  master  with  eager  and  somewhat  frightened 
attention. 

"  Senor,"  he  said,  in  Spanish,  "  Senor  Commen- 
done, I  am  very  far  from  well.  The  long  ride 
hath  tired  me.  I  would  rest.  Speak  to  Sir  John 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL      91 

Shelton,  and  ask  this  worthy  caballero,  who  is  my 
host,  if  I  may  retire  to  rest." 

Johnnie  spoke  at  once  to  Mr.  Lacel,  explaining 
that  the  Spanish  nobleman  was  very  fatigued  and 
wished  to  lie  down. 

The  Sheriff  jumped  up  at  once,  profuse  in  hos- 
pitality, and  himself  led  the  way,  followed  by  the 
King  and  Commendone,  to  an  upper  chamber. 

They  saw  the  King  lie  down  upon  the  bed,  and 
curtains  pulled  half-way  over  the  mullioned  win- 
dows of  the  room,  letting  only  a  faint  beam  of 
sunlight  enter  there. 

'  Thy  friend  will  be  all  right  now,  Mr.  Com- 
mendone," said  the  squire.  "  These  Spanish  gen- 
tlemen are  not  over-strong,  methinks."  He  laughed 
roughly,  and  Johnnie  heard  again,  in  the  voice  of 
this  country  gentleman,  that  dislike  of  Spain  and 
of  the  Spanish  Match,  which  his  own  father 
shared. 

They  went  out  of  the  room  together,  and  John- 
nie shrugged  his  shoulders — it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  the  identity  of  the  King  should  not 
be  suspected. 

"Well,  well,  Mr.  Lacel,"  he  said,  linking  his 
arm  within  his  host's,  and  assuming  a  friendly 
country  manner — which,  of  course,  came  perfectly 
natural  to  him,  "  it  is  not  for  you  and  I  to  question 
or  to  make  comment  upon  those  gentlemen  from 
over-seas  who  are  in  high  favour  in  London  just 
now.  Let  us  to  breakfast." 

In  a  minute  more  they  were  sitting  at  the  table, 


92  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

where  Sir  John  Shelton  was  already  busy  with  wine 
and  food. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  three  men  ate  in  silence. 
Then  Mr.  Lacel  must  have  from  them  every  de- 
tail of  the  execution.  It  was  supplied  him  with 
great  vigour  and  many  oaths  by  Sir  John. 

Mr.  Lacel  shook  himself. 

"  I  am  indeed  sorry,"  said  he,  "  that  I  was 
not  at  the  execution,  because  it  was  my  bounden 
duty  to  be  there.  Natheless,  I  am  not  sorry  for 
myself.  To  see  a  rogue  or  masterless  man  trussed 
up  is  very  well,  but  Dr.  Rowland  Taylor  that  was 
Rector  here,  and  hath  in  times  past  been  a  guest 
at  this  very  table — well,  I  am  glad  I  did  not  see 
the  man  die.  Was  a  pleasant  fellow,  could  wind  a 
horn  or  throw  a  falcon  with  any  of  the  gentry 
round,  had  a  good  lusty  voice  in  a  chorus,  and 
learning  much  beyond  the  general." 

"  Mr.  Lacel,  Mr.  Lacel,"  Sir  John  Shelton  said 
in  a  loud  and  rather  bullying  voice,  "  surely  you 
have  no  sympathy  nor  liking  for  heretics?  " 

"  Not  I,  i'  faith,"  said  the  old  gentleman  at  the 
top  of  the  table,  striking  the  thick  oak  with  his  fist. 
"  I  have  been  a  good  Catholic  ever,  and  justice 
must  be  done.  'Twas  the  man  I  liked,  Master 
Shelton,  'twas  the  man  I  liked.  Now  we  have  here 
as  Rector  a  Mr.  Lacy.  He  is  a  good  Catholic 
priest,  and  dutiful  at  all  his  services.  I  go  to 
Mass  three  times  a  week.  But  Father  Lacy,  as  a 
man,  is  but  a  sorry  scrub.  He  eateth  nothing,  and 
a  firkin  of  ale  would  last  him  six  months.  Still, 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL      93 

gentlemen,  ye  cannot  live  on  both  sides  of  a  buck- 
ler. Poor  Roly  Taylor  was  a  good,  honest  man,  a 
sportsman  withal,  and  well  loved  over  the  country- 
side— I  am  glad  I  saw  not  his  burning.  Certainly 
upon  religion  he  was  mad  and  very  ill-advised,  and 
so  dies  he.  I  trust  his  stay  in  purgation  be  but 
short." 

Sir  John  Shelton  put  down  his  tankard  with  a 
crash. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  doth  not  know  that 
His  Grace  of  London  did  curse  this  heretic?  I 
myself  was  there  and  heard  it." 

The  ruffian  lifted  his  tankard  of  wine  to  his 
lips,  and  took  a  long  draught.  His  face  was 
growing  red,  his  eyes  twinkled  with  half-drunken 
cunning  and  suspicion. 

"Aye,"  he  cried,  "I  heard  it— '  And  by  the 
authority  of  God  the  Father  Almighty,  and  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  Mary,  of  St.  Peter  and  Paul,  and 
of  the  Holy  Saints,  we  excommunicate,  we  utterly 
curse  and  ban,  commit  and  deliver  to  the  Devil  of 
hell,  ye  that  have  in  spite  of  God  and  of  St.  Peter, 
whose  Church  this  is,  in  spite  of  holy  saints,  and 
in  spite  of  our  most  Holy  Father  the  Pope,  God's 
Vicar  here  on  earth,  denied  the  truths  of  Holy 
Church.  Accursed  may  ye  be,  and  give  body  and 
soul  to  the  Devil.  We  give  ye  over  utterly  to  the 
power  of  the  Fiend,  and  thy  soul  when  thou  art 
dead  shall  lie  this  night  in  the  pains  of  hell-fire,  as 
this  candle  is  now  quenched  and  put  out.'  ' 

As  he   finished,   Sir  John  knocked  over  a  tall 


94  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

glass  cruet  of  French  vinegar,  and  stared  with  in- 
creasing drunkenness  at  his  host. 

Mr.  Lacel,  simple  gentleman  that  he  was,  was 
obviously  disgusted  at  his  guest.  He  said  very 
little,  however,  seeing  that  the  man  was  somewhat 
gone  in  liquor,  as  Johnnie  also  realised  that  the 
stale  potations  of  the  night  before  were  wakened 
by  the  new  drink,  and  rising  up  into  Shelton's 
brain. 

"  Well,  well,  Sir  John,"  Mr.  Lacel  replied,  "  I 
am  no  theologian,  but  I  am  a  good  son  of  the 
Church,  and  have  always  been,  as  you  and  those 
at  Court — those  in  high  places,  Sir  John,"  he  said 
it  with  a  certain  emphasis  and  spirit — "  know  very 
well." 

The  quiet  and  emphatic  voice  had  its  effect. 
Shelton  dropped  his  bullying  manner.  He  was 
aware,  and  realised  that  Mr.  Lacel  probably  knew 
also,  that  he  was  but  a  glorified  man-at-arms,  a  led 
captain,  and  not  at  all  in  the  confidence  of  great 
people,  nor  acquainted  with  private  affairs  of  State. 
He  had  been  puffed  up  by  his  recent  association 
with  the  King  in  his  vile  pleasures,  but  a  clever 
ruffian  enough,  he  saw  now  that  he  had  gone  too 
far. 

He  saw  also  that  John  Commendone  was  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  fixed  and  disdainful  expression. 
He  remembered  that  the  young  courtier  was  high 
in  the  good  graces  of  the  King  and  Queen. 

"  I'  faith,"  he  cried,  with  an  entire  change  of 
manner — "  I*  faith,  old  friend  Peter,  I  was  but 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL      95 

jesting;  we  all  know  thou  art  loyal  to  Church  and 
State,  their  law.  Mr.  Commendone,  I  ask  you, 
hast  seen  a  more- 
Johnnie's  voice  cut  into  the  man's  babbling. 

"  Sir  John,"  he  said,  "  if  I  were  you  I  would 
go  upstairs  and  see  how  the  Spanish  gentleman 
doeth." 

He  looked  very  keenly,  and  with  great  meaning, 
at  the  knight. 

Sir  John  pushed  his  chair  from  the  table. 
"  Spine  of  God,"  he  cried  thickly,  "  and  I  was 
near  forgetting  His  Highness.  I  will  to  him  at 
once." 

He  stumbled  away  from  the  table,  pulled  him- 
self together,  and,  following  Mr.  Lacel's  butler, 
who  had  just  come  into  the  hall,  ascended  the  broad 
stairway. 

Mr.  Lacel  looked  very  curiously  at  Johnnie. 

"  Sir,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  looking  round  the 
hall  to  see  if  any  servant  were  within  earshot, 
"  that  drunkard  hath  said  more  than  he  meant.  I 
am  not  quite  the  country  fool  I  seem  to  be,  but 
least  said  is  soonest  mended.  I  have  known  Sir 
John  Shelton  for  some  years — a  good  man  in  the 
chase,  a  soldier,  but  a  drunken  fool  withal.  I  know 
your  name,  and  I  have  met  your  father  at  the  Wool 
Exchange  in  London.  We  are  both  of  Catholic 
houses,  but  I  think  none  of  us  like  what  is  going 
on  now,  and  like  to  go  on  since  "  —here  he  dropped 
his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  glanced  up- 
wards to  the  gallery  which  ran  round  the  hall — 


96  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  since  Her  Grace  had  wedded  out  of  the  kingdom. 
But  we  must  say  nothing.  Who  that  gentleman 
upstairs  is,  I  do  not  seek  to  know,  but  I  tell  you 
this,  Mr.  Commendone,  that,  heretic  or  none,  I 
go  to-morrow  morning  to  Father  Lacy  and  give 
him  a  rose-angel  to  say  masses  for  the  soul  of  a 
good  dead  friend  of  mine.  I  shall  not  tell  him  who 
'tis,  and  he's  too  big  a  fool  to  ask,  but ' 

The  old  man's  voice  caught  in  his  throat.  He 
lifted  his  cup,  and  instinctively  Johnnie  did  the 
same. 

"  Here's  to  him,"  Mr.  Lacel  whispered,  "  and 
to  his  dame,  a  sweet  and  gracious  lady,  and  to  his 
little  lad  Thomas,  and  the  girl  Mary;  they  have 
oft  sat  on  my  knee — for  I  am  an  old  widower,  Mr. 
Commendone — when  I  have  told  them  the  tale  of 
the  babes  in  the  wood." 

Tears  were  in  the  Sheriff's  eyes,  and  in  the  eyes 
of  the  young  man  also,  as  he  raised  his  cup  to  his 
lips  and  drank  the  sad  and  furtive  toast. 

"And  here,"  Mr.  Lacel  continued,  lifting  his 
cup  once  more,  and  leaning  forward  over  the  table 
close  to  his,  "  and  here's  to  Lizzie,  whom  dear 
Dr.  Taylor  adopted  to  be  as  his  own  daughter 
when  she  was  but  a  little  maid  of  three.  Here's  to 
Elizabeth,  the  sweetest  girl,  the  most  blithe  com- 
panion, the  daintiest,  most  brave  little  lady  that 
ever  trod  the  lanes  of  Suffolk — 

He  had  hardly  finished  speaking,  and  Johnnie's 
hand  was  trembling  as  he  lifted  the  goblet  to  his 
lips,  when  there  was  a  noise  in  the  gallery  above, 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL      97 

and  Sir  John  Shelton,  pale  of  face,  and  followed 
by  the  butler,  came  noisily  down  the  oak  stairs. 

The  knight's  manner  was  more  than  a  little  ex- 
cited. 

"  Mr.  Commendone,"  he  said  in  a  quick  but 
conciliatory  voice,  "  His  Highness — that  is  to  say, 
the  Spanish  gentleman — is  very  fatigued,  and  can- 
not ride  to  London  to-day." 

He  turned  to  Mr.  Lacel. 

"  Peter,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  now  anxious 
and  suave,  the  voice  of  a  man  of  affairs,  and  with 
something  definite  to  say,  "  Peter,  I  must  claim 
your  hospitality  for  the  night  for  myself  and 
for  my  Spanish  friend.  Also,  I  fear,  for  my 
men." 

Mr.  Lacel  bowed.  "  Sir  John,"  he  said,  "  my 
poor  house  is  very  gladly  at  your  disposal,  and  you 
may  command  me  in  all  ways." 

"  I  thank  you,"  Sir  John  answered,  "  I  thank 
you  very  much.  You  are  doing  me  a  service,  and 
perhaps  other  people  a  service  which —  He 

broke  off  shortly,  and  turned  once  more  to  Com- 
mendone. "  Mr.  Commendone,"  he  said,  "  it  is 
requisite  that  you  will  at  once  to  horse  with  your 
own  servant  and  one  of  my  men,  and  ride  to  Lon- 
don— Excuse  me,  Peter,  but  I  have  a  privy  word 
to  say  to  the  Esquire." 

He  drew  Johnnie  aside.  "  You  must  ride  post- 
haste to  the  Queen,"  he  said,  "  and  tell  her  that 
His  Majesty  is  very  weary  or  eke  unwell.  He  will 
lie  the  night  here  and  come  to  London  with  me  in 


98  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

the  morning,  and  by  the  Mass,  Mr.  Commendone, 
I  don't  envy  you  your  commission !  " 

"  I  will  go  at  once,"  Johnnie  answered,  look- 
ing at  his  watch. 

"  Very  good,  Mr.  Commendone,"  Sir  John 
answered.  "  I  am  not  of  the  Privy  Closet,  as  you 
know.  You  are  in  communion  with  Her  Grace,  and 
have  been.  But  if  all  we  of  the  guard  hear  is 
true,  then  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Natheless,  you 
must  do  it.  Tell  Her  Grace  of  the  burning — oh, 
tell  her  anything  that  commendeth  itself  to  you, 
but  let  her  not  think  that  His  Highness  is  upon 
some  lover's  business.  And  of  Duck  Lane  not  a 
word,  not  a  single  word,  as  you  value  your  fa- 
vour!" 

"  It  is  very  likely,  is  it  not,  Sir  John,"  Com- 
mendone answered,  "  that  I  should  say  anything  of 
Duck  Lane?" 

The  sneer  in  his  voice  was  so  pronounced  that 
the  big  bully  writhed  uneasily. 

"  Surely,"  he  replied,  "  you  are  a  very  pattern 
and  model  of  discretion.  I  know  it  well  enough, 
Mr.  Commendone." 

Johnnie  made  his  adieux  to  his  host. 

"But  what  about  your  horses,  sir?"  the  old 
gentleman  asked.  "  As  I  understand  it,  you  ride 
post-haste  to  London.  Your  nag  will  not  take 
you  there  very  fast  after  your  long  ride." 

"  I  must  post,  that  is  all,"  Johnnie  answered. 
"  I  can  get  a  relay  at  Chelmsford." 

"  Nay,  Mr.  Commendone,  it  is  not  to  be  thought 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL      99 

of,"  said  the  squire.  "  Now,  look  you.  I  have  a 
plenty  horses  in  my  stables.  There  is  a  roan  mare 
spoiling  for  work  that  will  suit  you  very  well.  And 
what  servants  are  you  taking?  " 

Sir  John  Shelton  broke  in. 

"  Hadst  better  take  thy  own  servant  and  two 
of  my  men,"  he  said.  "  You  will  be  riding  back 
upon  the  way  we  came,  and  I  doubt  me  the  country 
folk  are  too  friendly." 

"  That  is  easy  done,"  said  Mr.  Lacel.  "  I  can 
horse  your  yeomen  also.  In  four  days  I  ride  my- 
self to  Westminster,  where  I  spend  a  sennight 
with  my  brother,  and  hope  to  pay  my  duties  at  the 
Court  when  it  moveth  to  Whitehall,  as  I  hear  it  is 
about  to  do.  The  horses  I  shall  lend  you,  Mr. 
Commendone,  can  be  sent  to  my  brother's,  Sir 
Frank  Lacel,  of  Lacel  House." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  sir,"  Johnnie  an- 
swered, "  you  are  very  kind."  And  with  that  he 
said  farewell,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  was  rid- 
ing over  Aldham  Common,  on  his  way  back  to 
London. 

Right  in  the  centre  of  the  Common  there  was 
still  a  large  crowd  of  people,  and  he  saw  a  farm 
cart  with  two  horses  standing  there. 

He  made  a  wide  detour,  however,  to  get  into 
the  main  road  for  Hadley,  shrinking  with  a  sudden 
horror,  more  poignant  and  more  physically  sick- 
ening than  anything  he  had  known  before,  from 
the  last  sordid  and  grisly  details  of  the  martyr's 
obsequies. 


ioo  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

.  .  .  No !  Anything  would  be  better  than  to 
see  this  dreadful  cleaning  up.  .  .  . 

The  big  rawbone  mare  which  he  was  riding 
was  fresh  and  playful.  Johnnie  was  a  consummate 
horseman,  and  he  was  glad  of  the  distraction  of 
keeping  the  beast  under  control.  She  had  a  hard 
mouth,  and  needed  all  his  skill. 

For  four  or  five  miles,  followed  by  his  attendants 
at  a  distance  of  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  he 
rode  at  a  fast  canter,  now  and  then  letting  the 
mare  stretch  her  legs  upon  the  turf  which  bordered 
the  rough  country  road.  After  this,  when  the 
horse  began  to  settle  down  to  steady  work, 
he  went  on  at  a  fast  trot,  but  more  mechanic- 
ally, and  thought  began  to  be  born  within  him 
again. 

Until  now  he  had  seemed  to  be  walking  and 
moving  in  a  dream.  Even  the  horrors  he  had 
seen  had  been  hardly  real.  Inexperienced  as  he 
was  in  many  aspects  of  life,  he  yet  knew  well  that 
the  man  with  an  imagination  and  sensitive  nerves 
suffers  far  more  in  the  memory  of  a  dreadful  thing 
than  he  does  at  the  actual  witnessing  of  it.  The 
very  violence  of  what  he  had  seen  done  that  day 
had  deadened  all  the  nerves,  forbidding  full  sen- 
sation— as  a  man  wounded  in  battle,  or  with  a 
limb  lopped  off  by  sword  or  shot,  is  often  seen 
looking  with  an  amazed  incredulity  at  himself, 
feeling  no  pain  whatever  for  the  moment. 

It  was  now  that  John  Commendone  began  to 
suffer.  Every  detail  of  Dr.  Taylor's  death  etched 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL     101 

themselves  in  upon  his  brain  in  a  succession  of 
pictures  which  burnt  like  fire. 

As  this  or  that  detail — in  colour,  movement,  and 
sound — came  back  to  him  so  vividly,  his  heart  be- 
gan to  drum,  his  eyes  to  fill  with  tears,  or  grow 
dry  with  horror,  the  palms  of  his  hands  to  become 
wet.  He  lived  the  whole  thing  over  again.  And 
once  more  his  present  surroundings  became  dream- 
like, as  he  cantered  through  the  lanes,  and  what 
was  past  became  hideously,  dreadfully  real. 

Yet,  as  the  gallant  mare  bore  him  swiftly  on- 
wards, he  realised  that  the  horror  and  disgust 
he  felt  were  in  reality  subservient  to  something 
else  within  him.  His  whole  being  seemed  quick- 
ened, infinitely  more  alert,  ready  for  action,  than 
it  had  ever  been  before.  He  was  like  a  man  who 
had  all  his  life  been  looking  out  upon  the  world 
through  smoked  or  tinted  glasses — very  pleased 
and  delighted  with  all  he  saw,  unable  to  realise 
that  there  could  be  anything  more  true,  more  vivid. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  glass  is  removed.  The  neu- 
tral greyness  which  he  has  taken  for  the  natural, 
commendable  view  of  things,  changes  and  falls 
away.  The  whole  world  is  seen  in  an  infinity  of 
light  and  colour  undreamed  of,  unexpected,  won- 
derfully, passionately  new. 

It  was  thus  with  Johnnie,  and  the  fact  for  some 
time  was  stunning  and  paralysing. 

Then,  as  the  brain  adjusted  itself  slowly  to  fresh 
and  marvellous  conditions,  he  began  to  question 
himself. 


102  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

What  did  it  mean?  What  did  it  mean  to  him? 
What  lay  before? 

Quite  suddenly  the  explanation  came,  and  he 
knew. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  tall  girl,  who  stood  by  St. 
Botolph's  tower  in  the  ghostly  dawn  that  had 
done  this  thing.  It  was  her  voice  that  had  rent 
aside  the  veil;  it  was  her  eyes  of  agony  which  lit 
up  the  world  so  differently. 

With  that  knowledge,  with  the  quick  hammer- 
ing of  love  at  a  virgin  heart,  there  came  also  an 
enormous  expectation.  Till  now  life  had  been 
pleasant  and  happy.  All  the  excitements  of  the 
past  seemed  but  incidents  in  a  long  tranquillity. 

The  orchestra  had  finished  the  prelude  to  the 
play.  Now  the  traverse  was  drawn  aside,  and 
action  began. 

As  the  young  man  realised  this,  and  the  white 
splendour  of  the  full  summer  sun  was  answered  by 
the  inexpressible  glow  within,  he  realised,  physi- 
cally, that  he  was  galloping  madly  along  the  road, 
pressing  his  spurs  to  his  horse's  flanks,  riding 
with  loose  rein,  the  stirrups  behind  him,  crouch- 
ing forward  upon  the  peaked  saddle.  He  pulled 
his  horse  up  within  two  or  three  hundred  yards, 
though  with  considerable  difficulty,  the  animal 
seeming,  in  some  subtle  way,  to  share  and  be  part 
of  that  which  was  rioting  within  his  brain. 

He  pulled  her  up,  however,  and  she  stood  trem- 
bling and  breathing  hard,  with  great  clots  of  white 
foam  covering  the  rings  of  the  bit.  He  soothed 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL     103 

her,  patting  the  strong  veined  neck  with  his  hand, 
bringing  it  away  from  the  darkening  hide  covered 
with  sweat.  Then,  when  she  was  a  little  more  at 
ease,  he  slipped  from  the  saddle  and  led  her  a  few 
paces  along  the  road  to  where  in  the  hedge  a  stile 
was  set,  upon  which  he  sat  himself. 

He  held  hold  of  the  rein  for  a  minute  until  he 
saw  the  mare  begin  to  crop  the  roadside  grass 
quietly  enough,  when  he  released  her. 

For  a  mile  or  more  the  road  by  which  he  had 
come  stretched  white  and  empty  in  the  sun.  There 
was  no  trace  of  his  men.  He  waited  there  till  they 
could  come  up  to  him. 

He  began  to  talk  to  himself  in  slow,  measured 
terms,  his  own  voice  sounding  strange  in  his  ears, 
coming  to  them  with  a  certain  comfort.  It  was  as 
though  once  more  he  had  regained  full  command 
and  captaincy  of  his  own  soul.  There  were  great 
things  to  be  done,  he  was  commander  of  his  own 
legions,  and,  like  a  general  before  a  battle,  he 
was  issuing  measured  orders  to  his  staff. 

"So  that  it  must  be;  it  must  be  just  that;  I 
must  find  Elizabeth  "  —his  subconscious  brain 
heard  with  a  certain  surprise  and  wonder  how  the 
slow  voice  trembled  at  the  word — "  I  must  find 
Elizabeth.  And  then,  when  I  have  found  her,  I 
must  tell  her  that  she,  and  she  alone,  is  to  be  my 
wife,  and  my  lady  ever  more.  I  must  sue  and 
woo  her,  and  then  she  must  be  my  wife.  It  is  that 
which  I  have  to  do.  The  Court  is  nothing;  my 
service  is  nothing;  it  is  Elizabeth!  " 


io4  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  mare  raised  her  head,  her  mouth  full  of 
long  sweet  grass,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  mild, 
brown  eyes. 

He  rose  from  the  stile,  put  his  hand  within  his 
doublet,  and  pulled  out  a  little  crucifix  of  ebony, 
with  a  Christ  of  gold  nailed  to  it. 

He  kissed  it,  and  then,  singularly  heartened  and 
resolute  in  mind,  he  mounted  again,  seeing,  as 
he  did  so,  that  his  men  were  coming  up  behind. 
He  waited  till  they  were  near  and  then  trotted  off, 
and  in  an  hour  came  to  the  outskirts  of  Chelms- 
ford  town. 

It  was  now  more  than  two  hours  after  noon,  and 
he  halted  with  his  men  at  the  "  Tun,"  the  principal 
inn  of  the  place,  and  adjacent  to  a  brewery  of  red 
brick,  where  the  famous  Chelmsford  ale — no  less 
celebrated  then  than  now — was  brewed. 

He  rode  into  the  courtyard  of  the  inn,  and  the 
ostlers  came  hurrying  up  and  took  his  horse  away, 
while  he  went  into  the  ordinary  and  sat  down  be- 
fore a  great  round  of  beef. 

The  landlord,  seeing  a  gentleman  of  quality, 
bustled  in  and  carved  for  him — a  pottle-bellied, 
voluble  man,  with  something  eminently  kindly  and 
human  in  his  eye. 

"From  the  Court,  sir,  I  do  not  doubt?"  he 
said. 

Johnnie  nodded. 

"  If  I  mistake  not,  you  are  one  of  the  gentle- 
men who  rode  with  the  Sheriff  and  Dr.  Rowland 
Taylor  this  morning?  " 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL     105 

"  That  was  I,"  Johnnie  answered,  looking 
keenly  at  the  man. 

"  I  would  have  wagered  it  was,  sir.  We  saw 
the  party  go  by  early.  Is  the  Doctor  dead,  sir?  " 

Johnnie  nodded  once  more. 

"  And  a  very  right  and  proper  thing  it  is,"  the 
landlord  continued,  "  that  such  should  die  the 
death." 

"  And  why  think  you  that,  landlord?  "  Johnnie 
asked. 

The  landlord  scratched  his  head,  looking  doubt- 
fully at  his  guest. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  say,  sir,"  he  replied,  after 
a  moment's  hesitation.  "  I  am  but  a  tradesman, 
and  have  no  concern  with  affairs  of  State.  I  am  a 
child  in  these  things,  but  doubtless  what  was  done 
was  done  very  well." 

Johnnie  pushed  away  the  pewter  plate  in  front 
of  him.  "  My  man,"  he  said,  "  you  can  speak 
freely  to  me.  What  think  you  in  truth?  " 

The  landlord  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  suddenly  sat  down  at  the  table. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  he  said,  "  who  or  what 
you  may  be.  As  thou  art  from  the  Court,  thou 
art  a  good  Catholic  doubtless,  or  wouldst  not  be 
there,  but  you  have  an  honest  face,  and  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  think.  Under  King  Hal  I  gat  me  to 
church,  and  profited  well  thereby  in  that  reign, 
for  the  abbey  being  broke  up,  and  the  friars  dis- 
persed, there  was  no  more  free  beer  for  any  rogue 
or  masterless  man  to  get  from  the  buttery,  aye,  and 


io6  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

others  of  this  town  with  property,  and  well-liked 
men,  who  would  drink  the  monks'  brew  free  rather 
than  pay  for  mine  own.  So,  God  bless  King 
Henry,  I  say,  who  brought  much  custom  to  mine 
inn,  being  a  wise  prince.  And  now,  look  you,  I 
go  to  Mass,  and  custom  diminisheth  not  at  all.  I 
have  had  this  inn  for  thirty  years,  my  father  be- 
fore me  for  fifty;  and  in  this  inn,  sir,  I  mean  to 
die.  It  is  nothing  to  me  whether  bread  and  wine 
are  but  bread  and  wine,  or  whether  they  be  That 
which  all  must  now  believe.  I  am  but  a  simple 
man,  and  let  wiser  than  I  decide,  keeping  always 
with  those  who  must  certainly  know  better  than  I. 
Meanwhile  I  shall  sell  my  beer  and  bring  up  my 
family  as  an  honest  man  should  do — God's  death ! 
What  is  that?" 

He  started  from  his  chair  as  Johnnie  did  like- 
wise, for  even  as  the  man  spoke  a  most  horrid  and 
untoward  noise  filled  all  the  air. 

Both  men  rushed  to  the  bulging  window  of 
leaded  glass,  which  looked  out  into  the  High 
Street. 

There  was  a  huge  shouting,  a  frightful  stamp 
and  clatter  as  of  feet  and  horses'  hooves  upon  the 
stones,  but  above  all  there  came  a  shrill,  snarling, 
neighing  noise,  ululating  with  a  ferocity  that  was 
not  human,  a  vibration  of  rage,  which  was  like 
nothing  Commendone  had  ever  heard  before. 

"Jesus!  But  what  is  this?"  Johnnie  cried, 
flinging  open  the  casement,  his  face  suddenly  white 
with  fear — so  utterly  outside  all  experience  was  the 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL     107 

dreadful  screeching,  which  now  seemed  a  thousand 
times  louder. 

He  peered  out  into  the  street  and  saw  people 
rushing  to  the  doors  and  windows  of  all  the  houses 
opposite,  with  faces  as  white  and  startled  as  his 
own.  He  looked  to  the  right,  for  it  was  from 
there  the  pealing  horror  of  sound  was  coming,  but 
he  could  see  nothing,  because  less  than  twenty 
yards  away  the  High  Street  made  a  sudden  turn 
at  right  angles  towards  the  Market  Place. 

"  It  is  some  devil,  certes,"  the  landlord  panted. 
"  Apollyon  must  have  just  such  a  voice. 
What " 

The  words  died  away  upon  his  lips,  and  in  a 
moment  the  two  men  and  all  the  other  watchers 
in  the  street  knew  what  had  happened. 

With  a  furious  stamping  of  hooves,  round  the 
corner  of  an  old  timbered  house,  leaping  from  the 
ground  in  ungovernable  fury,  and  in  that  leaping 
advancing  but  very  slowly,  came  a  huge  stallion, 
black  as  a  coal,  its  eyes  red  with  malice,  its  ears 
laid  back  over  its  head,  the  huge  bull-like  neck 
erect,  and  smeared  with  foam  and  blood. 

Commendone  had  never  seen  such  a  monster; 
indeed,  there  were  but  few  of  them  in  England  at 
that  time — the  product  of  Lanarkshire  mares 
crossed  with  the  fierce  Flanders  stallions,  only  just 
then  introduced  into  England  by  that  Earl  of 
Arran  who  had  been  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  the 
Princess  Elizabeth. 

The  thing  seemed  hardly  horse,  but  malignant 


io8  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

demon  rather,  and  with  a  cold  chill  at  their  hearts 
the  landlord  and  his  guest  saw  that  the  stallion 
gripped  a  man  by  one  arm  and  shoulder,  a  man 
that  was  no  more  a  man,  but  a  limp  bundle  of 
clothes,  and  shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat. 

The  bloody  and  evil  eyes  glared  round  on  every 
side  as  the  great  creature  heaved  itself  into  the 
air,  the  long  "  feather "  of  silky  hair  about  its 
fetlocks  waving  like  the  pennons  of  lances.  There 
was  a  dreadful  sense  of  display.  The  stallion  was 
consciously  and  wickedly  performing,  showing 
what  it  could  do  in  its  strength  of  hatred — evil, 
sentient,  malign. 

It  tossed  the  wretched  man  up  into  the  air, 
and  flung  him  lifeless  and  broken  at  its  fore  feet. 
And  then,  horror  upon  horror,  it  began  to  pound 
him,  smashing,  breaking,  and  treading  out  what 
little  life  remained,  with  an  action  the  more  dread- 
ful and  alarming  in  that  it  was  one  absolutely 
alien  to  the  usual  habits  of  the  horse. 

It  stopped  at  last,  stiffened  all  over,  its  long, 
wicked  head  stretched  out  like  that  of  a  pointing 
dog,  while  its  eyes  roved  round  as  if  in  search  of 
a  new  victim. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  street. 

Then  Johnnie  saw  a  short,  thick-set  man,  with 
a  big  head  and  a  brown  face,  come  out  from  the 
archway  opposite,  where  he  had  been  standing  in 
amazement,  into  the  full  street,  facing  the  silent, 
waiting  beast. 

Something    stabbed    the    young    man's    heart 


MEETING  WITH  JOHN  HULL     109 

strangely.  It  was  not  fear  for  the  man;  it  was 
quite  distinct  from  the  breathless  excitement  and 
sickening  wonder  of  the  moment. 

Johnnie  had  seen  this  man  before. 

With  slow,  very  slow,  but  resolute  and  deter- 
mined steps,  the  man  drew  nearer  to  the  stal- 
lion. 

He  was  within  four  yards  of  it,  when  it  threw 
up  its  head  and  opened  its  mouth  wide,  showing 
the  great  glistening  yellow  teeth,  the  purple  lips 
curling  away  from  them,  in  a  rictus  of  malignity. 
From  the  open  mouth,  covered  with  blood  and 
foam,  once  more  came  the  frightful  cry,  the  mad 
challenge. 

Even  as  that  happened,  the  man,  who  carried 
a  stout  stick  of  ash  such  as  drovers  used,  leapt 
at  the  beast  and  struck  it  full  and  fair  upon  the 
muzzle,  a  blow  so  swift,  and  so  hefty,  withal,  that 
the  ash-plant  snapped  in  twain  and  flew  up  into 
the  air. 

The  next  thing  happened  very  swiftly.  The 
man,  who  had  a  short  cloak  upon  his  arm,  threw 
it  over  the  stallion's  head  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment. (There  was  a  white  flash  in  the  sunshine,  as 
his  short  knife  left  his  belt,  and  with  one  fierce 
blow  plunged  deep  into  the  lower  portion  of  the 
stallion's  neck  just  above  the  great  roll  of  fat  and 
muscle  which  arched  down  towards  the  chest. 

Then,  with  both  hands  at  the  handle  of  the 
knife,  the  man  pulled  it  upwards,  leaning  back  as 
he  did  so,  and  putting  all  his  strength  into  what 


no  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

he  did,  cutting  through  the  living  veins  and  trachea 
as  a  butcher  cuts  meat. 

There  was  a  dreadful  scream,  which  changed 
upon  an  instant  to  a  cough,  a  fountain  of  dark 
blood,  and  the  monster  staggered  and  fell  over 
upon  its  side  with  a  crash. 

A  minute  afterwards  Commendone  was  out  in 
the  High  Street  mingling  with  the  excited  crowd 
of  townspeople. 

He  touched  the  sturdy  brown-faced  man  upon 
the  shoulder. 

"  Come  into  the  inn,"  he  said.  "  I  have  some- 
what to  say  to  you,  John  Hull." 


CHAPTER  IV 

PART  TAKEN  IN  AFFAIRS  BY  THE  HALF  TESTOON 

IT  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  John 
Commendone  arrived  at  the  Tower.  He  went  to 
the  Queen's  Gallery,  and  found  that  Her  Majesty 
had  just  come  back  from  Vespers  in  St.  John's 
Chapel,  and  was  in  the  Privy  Garden  with  some 
of  her  ladies. 

Mr.  Ambrose  Cholmondely  was  lieutenant  of 
the  guard  at  this  hour,  and  Johnnie  went  to  him, 
explaining  that  he  must  see  the  Queen  at  once. 

"  She  won't  see  any  one,  Commendone,"  young 
Mr.  Cholmondely  answered.  "  I  really  cannot  send 
your  name  to  Her  Grace." 

"  But  I  must  see  Her  Grace.  It  is  highly  im- 
portant." 

Cholmondely  looked  at  Commendone. 

"  You  have  ridden  far  and  fast,"  he  said.  '  You 
might  even  be  the  bearer  of  despatches,  my  friend 
John.  But  I  cannot  send  in  your  name  to  the 
Queen.  Even  if  I  could,  I  certainly  would  not  do 
so  when  you  are  like  this,  in  such  disorder  of 
dress.  You've  come  from  no  battle-field  with 
news  of  vietory.  If  the  matter  urgeth,  as  you  say, 
then  you  have  your  own  remedy.  The  King  Con- 
sort lies  ill  in  his  own  lodging;  he  hath  not  been 

in 


ii2  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

seen  of  any  one  since  supper  last  night.  I  don't 
know  where  you  have  been  or  what  you  have  been 
doing,  and  it  is  no  concern  of  mine,  i'  faith,  but 
you  can  very  well  go  to  the  King's  quarters,  where, 
if  your  business  is  as  you  say,  one  of  the  dons  or 
Spanish  priests  will  speedily  arrange  an  audience 
for  you  with  Her  Grace." 

Johnnie  knew  the  rigid  etiquette  of  the  Court 
very  well. 

Technically  young  Mr.  Cholmondely  was  within 
his  rights.  He  had  received  orders  and  must  obey 
them.  Upon  the  other  hand,  no  one  knew  better 
than  Commendone  that  this  young  gallant  was  a 
fool,  puffed  up  with  the  favour  of  ladies,  and  who 
from  the  first  had  regarded  him  as  in  some  sense  a 
rival — was  jealous  of  him. 

John  realised  in  a  moment  that  no  one  of  the 
Court  except  the  Queen  and  King  Philip's  private 
gentlemen  knew  of  His  Highness's  absence.  It 
had  been  put  about  that  he  was  ill.  It  would  have 
been  an  easy  thing  for  Johnnie  to  turn  away  from 
the  gate  of  the  Privy  Garden,  where,  in  the  soft 
sunset  light,  Mr.  Cholmondely  ruffled  it  so  bravely, 
and  find  Father  Diego.  But  he  was  in  no  mood 
at  that  moment  for  compromise.  He  was  per- 
fectly certain  of  his  own  right  to  admission.  He 
knew  that  the  tidings  he  bore  were  far  more  im- 
portant than  any  point  of  etiquette.  He  was  cool 
and  suave  enough  as  a  general  rule — not  at  all 
inclined,  or  a  likely  person,  to  infringe  the  stately 
machinery  which  controlled  the  lives  of  monarchs. 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  113 

But  now  he  was  in  a  mood  when  these  things 
seemed  shrunken,  smaller  than  they  had  ever  been 
before.  He  himself  was  animated  by  a  great 
private  purpose,  he  bore  a  message  from  the  King 
himself  to  the  Queen;  he  was  in  a  state  of  exalta- 
tion, and  looking  at  the  richly  dressed  young 
courtier  before  him,  remembering  what  a  popinjay 
and  lap-dog  of  ladies  he  was,  he  felt  a  sudden 
contempt  for  the  man  who  barred  his  way. 

He  wouldn't  have  felt  it  before,  but  he  was 
older  now.  He  had  bitten  in  upon  life,  an  extraor- 
dinary strength  and  determination  influenced  him 
and  ran  in  his  blood. 

"  Mr.  Cholmondely,"  he  said,  "  nevertheless,  I 
will  go  to  the  Queen,  as  I  am,  and  go  at 
once." 

Cholmondely  was  just  inside  the  gates  which 
led  to  the  Privy  Garden,  strolling  up  and  down, 
while  outside  the  gates  were  two  archers  of  the 
Queen's  Guard,  and  a  halberdier  of  the  garrison, 
who  was  sitting  upon  a  low  stone  bench. 

Johnnie  had  passed  the  men  and  was  standing 
within  the  garden. 

"You  will,   Mr.   Commendone?  " 

Johnnie  took  a  step  forward  and  brushed  the 
other  away  with  his  left  arm,  contemptuously,  as 
if  he  had  been  a  serving-man.  Then  he  strode 
onwards. 

The  other's  sword  was  out  of  his  scabbard  in 
a  second,  and  he  threw  himself  on  guard,  his  face 
livid  with  passion.  Johnnie  made  no  motion  to- 


n4  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

wards  his  own  sword  hilt,  but  he  grasped  the 
other's  light  rapier  with  his  right  hand,  twisted  it 
away  with  a  swift  muscular  motion,  broke  it  upon 
his  knee  and  flung  the  pieces  into  Cholmondely's 
face. 

"  I  go  to  Her  Majesty,"  he  said.  "  When  I 
have  done  my  business  with  her,  I  will  see  you 
again,  Mr.  Cholmondely,  and  you  can  send  your 
friend  to  my  lodging." 

Without  a  further  glance  at  the  lieutenant  of  the 
guard  he  hurried  down  a  broad  gravelled  path, 
edged  with  stocks,  asters  and  dark  green  borders 
of  box,  towards  where  he  knew  he  would  find  the 
Queen. 

Cholmondely  stood,  swaying  and  reeling  for  a 
second.  No  word  escaped  him,  but  from  his  cheek, 
cut  by  the  broken  sword,  came  a  thin  trickle  of 
scarlet. 

Johnnie  had  turned  out  of  the  broad  walk  and 
into  the  terraced  rose-garden,  which  went  down 
to  the  river — where  he  saw  a  group  of  brightly- 
dressed  ladies,  rightly  conjecturing  that  the  Queen 
was  among  them — when  he  heard  running  steps 
behind  him. 

Cholmondely  had  almost  caught  him  up,  and 
a  dagger  gleamed  in  his  right  hand.  A  loud  oath 
burst  from  him,  and  he  flung  himself  upon  Com- 
mendone. 

At  the  exact  moment  that  he  did  so,  the  ladies 
had  turned,  and  saw  what  was  going  on;  and 
while  the  two  young  men  wrestled  together,  Choi- 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  115 

mondely  vainly  trying  to  free  his  dagger-arm  from 
Commendone's  vice-like  grip,  there  came  a  loud, 
angry  voice  which  both  knew  well,  booming 
through  the  pergolas  of  roses.  The  instant  the 
great  voice  struck  upon  their  ears  they  fell  away 
from  each  other,  arms  dropped  to  their  sides, 
breaths  panting,  eyes  of  hate  and  anger  suddenly 
changed  and  full  of  apprehension. 

There  were  one  or  two  shrieks  and  feminine 
twitters,  a  rustle  of  silk  skirts,  a  jangle  of  long 
silver  chatelaines,  and  like  a  bouquet  of  flowers 
coming  towards  them,  the  queen's  ladies  hurried 
over  the  lawn ;  Her  Grace's  small  form  was  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  rest. 

Queen  Mary  came  up  to  them,  her  thin  face 
suffused  with  passion. 

"  Sirs,"  she  shouted,  "what  mean  you  by  this? 
Are  gentlemen  of  Our  Court  to  brawl  in  Our 
gardens?  By  the  Mass,  it  shall  go  very  hard  with 
you  gentlemen.  It " 

She  saw  Commendone. 

Her  voice  changed  in  a  second. 

"  Mr.  Commendone  !  Mr.  Commendone !  You 
here?  I  had  looked  to  see  you  hours  agone. 
Where  is " 

She  had  nearly  said  it,  but  a  warning  flash  from 
the  young  man's  eyes  stayed  the  wild  inquiry  upon 
her  lips.  Clever  as  she  was,  the  Queen  caught 
herself  up  immediately. 

;<  What  is  this,  sir?"  she  said,  more  softly, 
and  in  Spanish. 


n6  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Johnnie  sank  on  one  knee. 

"  I  have  just  come  to  the  Tower,  M'am,"  he 
said,  "  with  news  for  Your  Majesty.  As  you  see, 
I  am  but  just  from  my  horse.  I  sought  you  post- 
haste, and  were  told  that  you  were  here.  Un- 
fortunately, I  could  not  persuade  Mr.  Cholmondely 
of  the  urgency  of  my  business.  He  had  orders  to 
admit  no  one,  and  daring  greatly,  I  pushed  past 
him,  and  in  the  execution  of  his  duty  he  followed 
me." 

The  Queen  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  turned  upon  Cholmondely. 

"  And  who  are  you,  Mr.  Cholmondely,"  she 
said  in  a  cold,  hard  voice,  "  to  deny  the  Esquire 
Our  presence  when  he  comes  with  special  tidings 
to  Us?" 

Cholmondely  bowed  low. 

"  I  did  but  hold  to  my  orders,  Madam,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

The  Queen  ground  her  high-heeled  shoe  into 
the  gravel. 

'  Your  sword,  Mr.  Cholmondely,"  she  said, 
"  you  will  hand  it  to  the  Esquire,  and  you  will  go 
to  your  lodging  to  await  our  pleasure." 

At  that,  the  lieutenant  of  the  guard  gave  a  loud 
sob,  and  his  face  became  purple. 

The  Queen  looked  at  him  in  amazement  and 
then  saw  that  his  scabbard  was  empty. 

In  a  moment  Johnnie  had  whipped  out  his  own 
riding-sword  and  pressed  it  into  Mr.  Cholmon- 
dely's  hand. 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  117 

"  Stupid!  "  he  said,  "  here  thou  art.  Now  give 
it  me  in  order." 

The  Queen  had  taken  it  all  in  immediately. 
The  daughter  of  a  King  to  whom  the  forms  and 
etiquette  of  chivalry  were  one  of  the  guiding  prin- 
ciples of  life,  she  realised  in  a  moment  what  had 
occurred. 

"  Boys !  Boys  !  "  she  said,  impatiently.  "  A 
truce  to  your  quarrels.  If  Mr.  Commendone 
robbed  you  of  your  sword,  Mr.  Cholmondely, 
he  hath  very  well  made  amends  in  giving  you  his. 
You  were  right,  Mr.  Cholmondely,  in  not  admit- 
ting Mr.  Commendone  to  Our  presence,  because 
you  knew  not  the  business  upon  which  he  came. 
And  you  were  right,  Mr.  Commendone,  in  coming 
to  Us  as  you  did  at  all  hazards.  Art  two  brave, 
hot-headed  boys.  Now  take  each  other's  hand; 
let  there  be  no  more  of  this,  for  " — and  her  voice 
became  lowing  and  full  of  menace  again — "  if  I 
hear  so  much  as  the  rattle  of  thy  swords  against 
each  other,  in  future,  neither  of  thee  will  e'er  put 
hand  to  pummel  again." 

The  two  young  men  touched  each  other's  hand 
— both  of  them,  to  tell  the  truth,  excessively  glad 
that  affairs  had  turned  out  in  this  way. 

"  Get  you  back  to  your  post,"  the  Queen  said 
to  the  lieutenant.  "  Mr.  Commendone,  come 
here." 

She  turned  swiftly,  passing  through  her  ladies, 
who  all  remained  a  few  yards  behind. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said  impatiently,  "  hath  His 


n8  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Highness  returned?  Hath  he  borne  the  fatigue 
of  the  journey  well?  " 

Most  carefully,  with  studied  phrases,  furtively 
watching  her  face,  with  the  skill  and  adroitness 
of  an  old  courtier,  Johnnie  told  his  story.  At 
any  moment  he  expected  an  outburst  of  temper,  but 
it  did  not  come.  To  his  surprise,  the  Queen  was 
now  in  a  quiet  and  reflective  mood.  She  walked 
up  and  down  the  bowling  green  with  him,  her 
ladies  standing  apart  at  one  edge  of  it,  nodding 
and  whispering  to  see  this  young  gallant  so  fa- 
voured, and  wondering  what  his  mission  might  be. 

The  Queen  asked  Johnnie  minute  questions 
about  Mr.  Peter  Lacel's  house.  Was  it  well  found? 
Would  His  Highness  find  proper  accommodation 
to  lie  there?  Was  Mr.  Lacel  married,  and  had 
he  daughters? 

Johnnie  assured  Her  Grace  that  Mr.  Lacel  was 
a  widower  and  without  children.  He  could  plainly 
see  that  the  Queen  had  that  fierce  jealousy  of  a 
woman  wedded  late.  Not  only  the  torturing  of 
other  women,  but  also  the  stronger  and  more 
pervading  dislike  of  a  husband  living  any  life, 
going  through  any  experiences  that  she  herself  did 
not  share.  At  the  same  time,  he  saw  also  that 
the  Queen  was  doing  her  very  best  to  overcome 
such  thoughts  as  these,  was  endeavouring  to  as- 
sume the  matron  of  common  sense  and  to  put  the 
evil  thing  away  from  her. 

Then,  just  as  the  young  man  was  beginning  to 
feel  a  little  embarrassed  at  the  quick  patter  of 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  119 

questions,  wondering  if  he  would  be  able  to  be  as 
adequate  as  hitherto,  remembering  guiltily  where 
he  had  met  the  King  the  night  before,  the  Queen 
ceased  to  speak  of  her  husband. 

She  began  to  ask  him  of  Dr.  Rowland  Taylor 
and  his  end. 

He  told  her  some  of  the  details  as  quietly  as  he 
could,  trying  to  soften  the  horror  which  even  now 
overwhelmed  him  in  memory.  At  one  question  he 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  mistaking  its  intent,  and 
the  Queen  touched  him  smartly  on  the  arm. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  of 
the  runagate's  torment.  He  suffered  rightly,  and 
doubtless  his  sufferings  were  great.  But  tell  me 
not  of  them.  They  are  not  meet  for  our  ears. 
Tell  me  of  what  he  said,  and  if  grace  came  to  him 
at  last." 

He  was  forced  to  tell  her,  as  he  knew  others 
would  tell  her  afterwards,  of  the  sturdy  denial  of 
the  martyr  till  the  very  end. 

And  as  he  did  so,  he  saw  the  face,  which  had 
been  alight  with  tenderness  and  anxiety  when  the 
King's  name  was  mentioned,  gravely  judicial  and  a 
little  disgusted  when  the  actual  sufferings  of  the 
Archdeacon  were  touched  upon,  now  become  hard 
and  cruel,  aflame  with  bigotry. 

"  They  shall  go,"  the  Queen  said,  rather  to  her- 
self than  to  him.  "They  shall  be  rooted  out; 
they  shall  die  the  death,  and  so  may  God's  most 
Holy  Church  be  maintained." 

At  that,  with  another  and  astonishing  change  of 


120  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

mood,  she  looked  at  the  young  man,  looked  him  up 
and  down,  saw  his  long  boots  powdered  with  dust, 
his  dress  in  disorder,  him  travel-stained  and  weary. 

'  You  have  done  well,"  she  said,  with  a  very 
kindly  and  eminently  human  smile.  "  I  would 
that  all  the  younger  gentlemen  of  our  old  houses 
were  like  you,  Mr.  Commendone.  His  Highness 
trusts  you  and  likes  you.  I  myself  have  reason  to 
think  well  of  you.  You  are  tired  by  your  long 
ride.  Get  you  to  your  lodging,  and  if  so  you  wish 
it,  you  shall  do  as  you  please  to-night,  for  when 
His  Highness  returns  I  will  see  that  he  hath  no 
need  of  you.  And  take  this  from  your  Queen." 

In  her  hand  the  Queen  carried  a  little  volume, 
bound  in  Nile-green  skin,  powdered  with  gold 
heraldic  roses.  It  was  the  Tristia  et  Epistolae  ex 
Ponto  of  Ovid,  which  she  had  been  reading. 
Johnnie  sank  upon  one  knee  and  took  the  book 
from  the  ivory-white  and  wrinkled  hand. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  will  lose  my  life  rather 
than  this  gracious  gift." 

"  Hey  ho !  "  the  Queen  answered.  "  Tell  that 
to  your  mistress,  Mr.  Commendone,  if  you  have 
one.  Still,  the  book  is  rare,  and  when  you  read  of 
the  poet's  sorrows  at  Tomi,  think  sometimes  of  the 
giver  who — and  do  not  doubt  it — hath  many  sor- 
rows of  her  own.  It  is  an  ill  thing  to  rule  We 
sometimes  think,  Mr.  Commendone,  but  God  hath 
put  Us  in  Our  place,  and  We  must  not  falter." 

She  turned.  "  Lady  Paget,"  she  called,  "  I  have 
done  with  this  young  spark  for  the  nonce;  come 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  121 

you,  and  help  me  pick  red  roses,  red  roses,  for  my 
chamber.  The  King  loveth  deep  red  roses,  and  I 
am  told  that  they  are  the  favoured  flower  of  all 
noble  gentlemen  and  ladies  in  the  dominions  of 
Spain." 

Bowing  deeply  once  more,  and  walking  back- 
wards to  the  edge  of  the  bowling  green,  Johnnie 
withdrew. 

He  passed  through  the  flower-bordered  ways 
till  he  came  to  the  gate  of  the  garden. 

Outside  the  gate  this  time,  on  the  big  gravelled 
sweep  which  went  in  front  of  the  Palace,  Chol- 
mondely  was  walking  up  and  down,  the  blood 
dried  upon  his  cheek,  but  not  washed  away.  He 
turned  in  his  sentinel's  parade  as  Johnnie  came  out, 
and  the  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other  for 
a  moment  in  silence. 

;'  What's  it  to  be?  "  Johnnie  said,  with  a  smile 
— "  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  to-morrow  morning? 
Her  Grace  will  never  know  of  it." 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you,  Johnnie,"  the  other 
answered.  "  No,  we'll  not  fight,  unless  you  wish 
it.  Come  you  to  the  Common  Room,  and  the 
pantler  shall  boil  his  kettle  and  brew  us  some 
sack." 

Johnnie  thrust  his  arm  into  the  other's  and  to- 
gether they  passed  away  from  the  garden,  better 
friends  at  that  moment  than  they  had  ever  been 
before — friends  destined  to  be  friends  for  two 
hours  before  they  were  to  part  forever,  though 
during  these  hours  one  of  them  was  to  do  the 


122  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

other  a  service  which  would  help  to  alter  the  whole 
course  of  his  life. 

They  went  into  the  Common  Room,  and  the 
pantler  was  summoned  and  ordered  to  brew  them 
a  bowl  of  sack — simply  the  hot  wine  and  water, 
with  added  spices,  which  our  grandmothers  of  the 
present  time  sipped  over  their  cards,  and  called 
Negus. 

Commendone  sunk  down  into  a  big  oak  chair, 
his  hands  stretched  out  along  the  arms,  his  whole 
body  relaxed  in  utter  weariness,  his  dark  face  now 
grown  quite  white.  There  were  lines  about  his 
eyes  which  had  not  been  there  a  few  hours  before. 
The  eyes  themselves  were  dull  and  glassy,  the  lips 
were  flaccid. 

Cholmondely  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 
"  Go  by,  Jeronymo !  "  he  said,  using  a  popular  tag, 
or  catch-word,  of  the  time,  the  "  What  ho,  she 
bumps !  "  of  the  period,  though  there  were  no 
music-halls  in  those  days  to  popularise  such  gems 
of  phrase.  ;<  What  ails  you,  Esquire?  I  was 
frightened  also  by  Her  Grace,  and,  i'  faith,  'tis 
a  fearful  thing  to  hear  the  voice  of  Majesty  in 
reproof.  But  thou  earnest  better  out  of  it  than  I, 
though  all  was  well  at  the  end  of  it  for  both  of  us. 
Is  it  with  you  still?  " 

Johnnie  shook  his  head  feebly.  "  No,"  he  said, 
lifting  a  three-handled  silver  cup  of  sack  to  his 
lips.  'Twas  not  that,  though  I  was  sorely 
angered  with  you,  Ambrose ;  but  I  have  had  a  long 
journey  into  the  country,  and  have  returned  but 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  123 

half  an  hour  agone.  I  have  seen  much — much." 
He  put  one  hand  to  his  throat,  swallowing  as  he 
spoke,  and  then  recollecting  himself,  adding  hur- 
riedly, "  Upon  affairs  of  State." 

The  other  gallant  sipped  his  wine.  "  Thou 
need'st  not  have  troubled  to  tell  me  that,"  he  said 
dryly.  "  When  a  gentleman  bursts  into  the  Privy 
Garden  against  all  order  he  is  doubtless  upon  busi- 
ness of  State.  What  brought  you  to  this  doing  I 
do  net  know,  and  I  don't  ask  you,  Johnnie.  All's 
well  that  ends  well,  and  I  hope  we  are  to  be 
friends." 

"  With  all  my  goodwill,"  Commendone  an- 
swered. "  We  should  have  been  friends  before." 

The  other  nodded.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome 
young  man,  a  little  florid  in  face,  but  of  a  high 
and  easy  bearing.  There  was,  nevertheless,  some- 
thing infinitely  more  boyish  and  ingenuous  in  his 
appearance  than  in  that  of  Commendone.  The 
latter,  perhaps  of  the  same  age  as  his  companion, 
was  infinitely  more  unreadable  than  the  other.  He 
seemed  older,  not  in  feature  indeed,  but  in  manner 
and  capability.  Cholmondely  was  explicit.  There 
was  a  swagger  about  him.  He  was  thoroughly 
typical.  Johnnie  was  cool,  collected,  and  aware. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Commendone,"  Chol- 
mondely said,  with  a  light  laugh  which  rang  with 
perfect  sincerity,  "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have 
been  a  little  jealous  of  you  since  you  came  to 
Court.  Thou  art  a  newcomer  here,  and  thou  hast 
risen  to  very  high  favour;  and  then,  by  the  Mass! 


124  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

thou  dost  not  seem  to  care  about  it  all.  Here  am 
I,  a  squire  of  dames,  who  pursue  the  pleasures 
of  Venus  with  great  ardour  and  not  ever  with  suc- 
cess. But  as  for  thee,  John  Commendone  of  Kent, 
i'  faith,  the  women  are  quarrelling  for  thee !  Eyes 
grow  bright  when  thou  comest  into  the  dance.  A 
week  agone,  at  the  barrier  fight  in  the  great  hall, 
Cicily  Thwaites,  that  I  had  marked  out  for  myself 
to  be  her  knight,  was  looking  at  thee  with  the  eyes 
of  a  duck  in  a  tempest  of  thunder.  So  that  is  that, 
Johnnie.  'Tis  why  I  have  not  liked  thee  much. 
But  we're  friends  now,  and  see  here " 

He  stepped  up  to  the  young  man  in  the  chair 
and  clapped  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  See 
here,"  he  went  on  in  a  deeper  voice,  "  thou  hast 
well  purged  the  dregs  and  leaven  of  my  dislike. 
Thou  gav'st  me  thy  sword  when  hadst  disarmed 
me,  and  I  stood  before  Her  Grace  shamed.  I  don't 
forget  that.  I  will  never  forget  it.  There  will 
never  be  any  savour  or  smell  of  malice  between 
thou  and  me." 

The  wine  had  roused  the  blood  in  Commendone's 
tired  veins.  He  was  more  himself  now.  The  ter- 
rible fatigue  and  nerve  tension  of  the  past  few 
hours  was  giving  place  to  a  sense  of  physical 
well-being.  He  looked  at  the  handsome  young 
fellow  before  him  standing  up  so  taut  and  trim, 
with  the  sunlight  pouring  in  upon  his  face  from 
one  of  the  long  open  windows,  his  head  thrown 
slightly  back,  his  lips  a  little  parted,  bright  with 
the  health  of  youth,  and  felt  glad  that  Ambrose 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  125 

Cholmondely  was  to  be  his  friend.  And  he  would 
want  friends  now,  for  some  reason  or  other — why 
he  could  not  divine — he  had  a  curious  sense  that 
friends  would  be  valuable  to  him  now.  He  felt 
immeasurably  older  than  the  other,  immeasurably 
older  than  he  had  ever  felt  before.  There  was 
something  big  and  stern  coming  into  his  life.  The 
diplomatic,  the  cautious,  trained  side  of  him  knew 
that  it  must  hold  out  hands  to  meet  all  those  that 
were  proffered  in  the  name  of  friend. 

Cholmondely  sat  down  upon  the  table,  swinging 
his  legs  backwards  and  forwards,  and  stroking 
the  smooth  pointed  yellow  beard  which  lay  upon 
his  ruff,  with  one  long  hand  covered  with  rings. 

"  And  how  like  you,  Johnnie,"  he  said,  "  your 
attendance  upon  His  Majesty?  From  what  we 
of  the  Queen's  Household  hear,  the  garden  of 
that  service  is  not  all  lavender.  Nay,  nor  ale  and 
skittles  neither." 

Johnnie  shrugged  his  shoulders,  his  face  quite 
expressionless.  In  a  similar  circumstance,  Am- 
brose Cholmondely  would  have  gleefully  entered 
into  a  gossip  and  discussion,  but  Commendone  was 
wiser  than  that,  older  than  his  years.  He  knew 
the  value  of  silence,  the  virtue  of  a  still  tongue. 

"  Sith  you  ask  me,  Ambrose,"  he  answered,  sip- 
ping his  wine  quietly,  "  I  find  the  service  good 
enough." 

The  other  grinned  with  boyish  malice.  There 
was  a  certain  rivalry  between  those  English  gentle- 
men who  had  been  attached  to  King  Philip  and 


126  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

those  who  were  of  the  Queen's  suite.  Her  Maj- 
esty was  far  more  inclined  to  show  favour  to 
those  whom  she  had  put  about  her  husband  than  to 
the  members  of  her  own  entourage.  They  were 
picked  men,  and  the  gay  young  English  sparks 
resented  undue  and  too  rapid  promotion  and  fa- 
vour shown  to  men  of  their  own  standing,  while, 
Catholics  as  most  of  them  were,  there  was  yet  an 
innate  political  distrust  instilled  into  them  by  their 
fathers  and  relations  of  this  Spanish  Match.  And 
many  courtiers  thought  that,  despite  all  the  safe- 
guards embodied  in  the  marriage  contract,  the 
marriage  might  yet  mean  a  foreign  dominion  over 
the  realm — so  fond  and  anxious  was  the  Queen. 

"  Each  man  to  his  taste,"  Cholmondely  said. 
"  I  don't  know  precisely  what  your  duties  are, 
Johnnie,  but  for  your  own  sake  I  well  hope  they 
don't  bring  you  much  into  the  companionship  of 
such  gentry  as  Sir  John  Shelton,  let  us  say." 

Johnnie  could  hardly  repress  a  start,  though  it 
passed  unnoticed  by  his  friend.  "  Sir  John  Shel- 
ton?" he  said,  wondering  if  the  other  knew  or 
suspected  anything  of  the  events  of  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours.  "  Sir  John  Shelton  ?  It's  little  enough 
I  have  to  do  with  him." 

"  And  all  the  better." 

Johnnie's  ears  were  pricked.  He  was  most 
anxious  to  get  to  know  what  was  behind  Chol- 
mondely's  words.  It  would  be  worth  a  good  deal 
to  him  to  have  a  thorough  understanding  of  the 
general  Court  view  about  the  King  Consort.  He 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  127 

affected  an  elaborate  carelessness,  even  as  he  did  so 
smiling  within  himself  at  the  ease  by  which  this 
boy  could  be  drawn. 

"Why  all  the  better?"  he  said.  "I  care  not 
for  a  bully-rook  such  as  Shelton  any  more  than 
you,  but  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  him." 

"  Then  you  make  no  excursions  and  sallies  late 
o'  nights?  " 

Commendone's  face  was  an  elaborate  mask  of 
wonder. 

"  Sallies  o'  nights?  "  he  said. 

The  other  young  man  swung  his  legs  to  and  fro, 
and  began  to  chuckle.  He  caught  hold  of  the 
edge  of  the  table  with  both  hands,  and  looked 
down  on  Johnnie  in  the  chair  with  an  amused  smile. 

"  And  I  had  thought  you  were  right  in  the  thick 
of  it,"  he  said.  "  Thy  very  innocence,  Johnnie, 
hath  prevented  thee  from  seeing  what  goes  on 
under  thy  nose.  Why,  His  Highness,  Sir  John  Shel- 
ton, and  Mr.  Clarence  Attwood  leave  the  Tower 
night  after  night  and  hie  them  to  old  Mother 
Motte's  in  Duck  Lane  whenever  the  Queen  hath 
the  vapours  and  thinketh  her  lord  is  in  bed,  or  at 
his  prayers.  Phew !  " — he  made  a  gesture  of  dis- 
gust. "  It  stinketh  all  over  the  Court.  I  see, 
Commendone,  now  why  thou  knowest  nothing  of 
this.  The  King  chooseth  for  his  night-bird  friends 
ruffians  like  Shelton  and  Attwood.  He  would  not 
dare  ask  one  that  is  a  gentleman  to  wallow  in 
brothels  with  him.  But  be  assured,  I  speak  en- 
tirely the  truth." 


128  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Johnnie  shrugged  his  shoulders  once  more.  "  I 
know  nothing  of  it,"  he  said,  with  a  quick,  side- 
long glance  at  Ambrose  Cholmondely.  "  I  am  not 
asked  to  be  Esquire  on  such  occasions,  at  any 
rate." 

"  And  wouldst  not  go  if  thou  wert,"  Cholmon- 
dely said,  loudly.  "  Nor  would  any  other  gentle- 
man that  I  know  of — only  the  very  scum  and 
vermin  of  the  Court.  The  game  of  love,  look 
you,  is  very  well.  I  am  no  purist,  but  I  hunt  after 
my  own  kind,  and  so  should  we  all  do.  I  don't 
bemire  myself  in  the  stews.  Well,  there  it  is. 
And  now,  much  refreshed  by  this  good  wine,  and 
much  heartened  by  our  compact,  I'll  leave  thee. 
I  must  get  back  to  guard  at  the  garden  gate.  Her 
Grace  will  be  leaving  anon  to  dress  for  supper. 
Perchance  to-night  the  King  will  be  well  enough  to 
make  appearance.  While  thou  hast  been  away,  he 
hath  been  close  in  his  quarters  and  very  sick.  The 
Spanish  priests  have  been  buzzing  round  him  like 
autumn  wasps.  And  Thorne,  the  chirurgeon  from 
Wood  Street,  a  very  skilful  man,  hath,  they  say, 
been  summoned  this  morning  to  the  Palace. 
Addio!" 

With  a  bright  smile  and  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he 
flung  out  of  the  room. 

Johnnie  finished  the  lukewarm  sack  in  his  goblet. 
He  had  learnt  something  that  he  wished  to  know, 
and  as  he  saw  his  friend  pass  beyond  the  windows 
outside,  his  feet  crunching  the  gravel  and  hum- 
ming a  little  song,  Johnnie  smiled  bitterly  to  him- 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  129 

self.  He  knew  rather  more  about  King  Philip's 
illness  than  most  people  in  England  at  that  mo- 
ment. And  as  for  Duck  Lane — well !  he  knew 
something  of  that  also.  As  the  thought  came  to 
him,  indeed,  he  shuddered.  He  remembered  the 
great  ham-like  face  of  the  procuress  who  kept  this 
fashionable  hell.  He  heard  her  voice  speaking  to 
him  as,  very  surely,  she  spoke  to  but  few  people 
who  visited  her  there.  He  thought  of  Ambrose 
Cholmondley's  fastidiousness,  and  he  smiled  again 
as  he  wondered  what  the  Esquire  would  say  if  he 
only  knew. 

It  was  not  a  merry  smile.  There  was  no  humour 
in  it.  It  was  bitter,  cynical,  and  fraught  with 
something  of  fear  and  expectation. 

He  had  drunk  the  wine,  and  it  had  re-animated 
him  physically;  but  he  rose  now  and  realised  how 
weary  he  was  in  mind,  and  also — for  he  was  always 
most  scrupulous  and  careful  about  his  dress — how 
stained  and  travel-worn  in  appearance. 

He  walked  out  of  the  Common  Room,  his  rid- 
ing sword  and  spurs  clanking  as  he  did  so,  mounted 
the  stairway  of  the  hall  and  entered  the  long  corri- 
dor which  led  to  his  own  room. 

He  had  nearly  got  to  his  doorway  when  he 
heard,  coming  from  a  little  way  beyond  it,  a  low, 
musical,  humming  voice.  He  remembered  with  a 
start  that  there  was  an  interview  before  him  which 
would  mean  much  one  way  or  the  other  to  his 
private  desires. 

During  the  interview  with  the  Queen  and  the 


i3o  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

squabble  with  Ambrose  Cholmondely — as  also 
afterwards,  when  he  was  drinking  in  the  Common 
Room — he  had  lost  mental  sight  and  grip  of  his 
own  private  wishes  and  affairs.  Now  they  all 
came  back  to  him  in  a  flash  as  he  heard  the  hum- 
ming voice  coming  from  the  end  of  the  corridor — 

"  Bartl'my  Fair!  Bartl'my  Fair! 
Swanked  I  and  drank  I  when  I  was  there; 
Boiled  and  roast  goose  and  baiting  of  bear, 
Who  plays  with  cudgels  at  Bartl'my  Fair?" 

He  turned  into  his  own  room  and  looked  round. 
He  saw  that  some  of  his  accoutrements  had  been 
taken  away.  There  were  vacant  pegs  upon  the 
walls.  He  sat  down  upon  the  small  low  bed, 
bent  forward,  clasped  his  hands  upon  his  knees, 
and  wondered  whether  he  should  speak  or  not. 
He  wondered  very  greatly  whether  he  dare  make 
a  query,  start  an  investigation,  nearer  to  his  heart 
than  anything  else  in  the  world. 

At  Chelmsford  he  had  run  out  of  the  Tun  Inn 
and  touched  the  burly  man  who  had  killed  the 
maddened  stallion  on  the  shoulder.  He  had 
brought  him  into  the  ordinary,  sat  him  down  in 
a  chair,  put  a  great  stoup  of  ale  before  him,  and 
then  begun  to  talk  to  him. 

"  I  know  who  you  are,"  he  said,  "  very  well, 
because  I  was  one  of  the  gentlemen  riding  from 
town  to  Hadley  with  your  late  master,  Dr.  Tay- 
lor. I  saw  you  when  his  Reverence  was  wishing 
good-bye  outside  St.  Botolph,  his  church,  and  I 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  131 

heard  the  words  your  master  said — eke  that  you 
were  the  '  faithfullest  servant  that  ever  a  man 
had.'  What  do  you  here  now,  John  Hull?  " 

The  man  had  drunk  his  great  stoup  of  ale  very 
calmly.  The  daring  deed  in  which  he  had  been 
engaged  had  seemed  to  affect  his  nerves  in  no  way 
at  all.  He  was  shortish,  thick-set,  with  a  broad 
chest  measurement,  and  a  huge  thickness  between 
chest  and  back.  His  face  was  tanned  to  the  colour 
of  an  old  saddle,  very  keen  and  alert,  and  he  was 
clean-shaved,  a  rather  odd  and  distinguishing 
feature  in  a  serving-man  of  that  time. 

He  told  Johnnie  that,  now  he  knew,  he  recog- 
nised him  as  one  of  the  company  who  rode  with 
Dr.  Taylor  to  his  death.  He  had  followed  the 
cavalcade  almost  immediately,  and  on  foot.  The 
way  was  long,  and  he  had  arrived  at  Chelmsford 
faint  and  weary  with  very  little  money  in  his  pouch, 
and  been  compelled  to  wait  there  a  time  for  rest 
and  food.  His  design  was  to  proceed  to  Hadley, 
where  he  knew  he  could  get  work  and  would  be 
welcome. 

Mr.  Peter  Lacel,  he  told  Johnnie  in  the  inn, 
would  doubtless  employ  him,  for  though  a  Catho- 
lic gentleman,  he  had  been  a  friend  of  the  Rector's 
in  the  past. 

'You  want   work,   then?"   Johnnie   had  said. 
'  You  do  not  wish  to  be  a  masterless  man,  a  hedge- 
dodger,  poacher,  or  a  rogue?" 

'  Work  I  must  have,  sir,"  John  Hull  replied, 
"  but  it  must  be  with  a  good  master.     Mr.  Peter 


132  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Lacel  will  take  me  on.  Masterless,  I  should  be  a 
very  great  rogue." 

All  this  happened  in  the  dining-room  of  the 
Chelmsford  inn,  Johnnie  sitting  in  his  chair  and 
looking  at  the  thick,  brown-faced  man  with  a  cool 
scrutiny  which  well  disguised  the  throbbing  excite- 
ment he  felt  at  seeing  him — at  meeting  him  in  this 
strange,  and  surely  pre-ordained  fashion. 

"  I'll  tell  thee  who  I  am,"  Johnnie  had  said  to 
the  man,  naming  himself  and  his  state.  "  That 
the  Doctor  spoke  of  you  as  he  did  when  going  to 
his  death  is  enough  recommendation  to  me  of  your 
fidelity.  I  need  a  servant  myself,  but  I  would  ask 
you  this,  John  Hull :  You  are,  doubtless,  of  a  cer- 
tain party.  If  I  took  you  to  my  service,  how 
would  you  square  with  who  and  what  I  am?  A 
led  man  of  mine  must  be  loyal." 

Hull  had  answered  but  very  little.  "  Ye  can 
but  try  me,  sir,"  he  said,  "  but  I  will  come  with 
you  to  London  very  joyfully.  And  I  well 
think " 

He  stopped,  mumbled  something,  and  stood 
there,  his  hands  stained  with  the  blood  of  the  horse 
he  had  killed,  rather  clumsy,  very  much  tongue- 
tied,  but  with  something  faithful  and  even  hungry 
in  his  eyes. 

Johnnie's  own  servant  was  a  man  called  Thumb, 
a  dissolute  London  fellow,  who  had  been  with  him 
for  a  month,  and  who  had  performed  his  duties 
in  a  very  perfunctory  way.  Life  had  been  so  quick 
and  vivid,  so  full  of  movement  and  the  newness 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  133 

of  Court  life,  that  the  Groom  of  the  Body  had 
hardly  had  time  to  remember  the  personal  discom- 
fort he  endured  from  the  fellow  who  had  been 
recommended  to  him  by  one  of  the  lieutenants  of 
the  Queen's  Archers.  He  had  always  meant  to  get 
rid  of  him  at  the  first  opportunity.  Now  the  op- 
portunity presented  itself,  though  it  was  not  for 
mere  convenience  that  Commendone  had  engaged 
his  new  servitor. 

He  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  in  his  own  mind 
that  the  man  was  sent  to  him — put  in  his  way — 
by  the  Power  which  ruled  and  controlled  the  for- 
tunes of  men.  Living  as  he  did,  and  had  done  for 
many  years,  in  a  quiet,  fastidious,  but  very  real 
dream  and  communion  with  things  that  the  hand 
or  body  do  not  touch  and  see,  he  had  always  known 
within  himself  that  the  goings-in  and  goings-out 
of  those  who  believe  depend  not  at  all  upon  chance. 
Like  all  men  of  that  day,  Commendone  was  deeply 
religious.  His  religion  had  not  made  him  bigoted, 
though  he  clung  to  the  Church  in  which  he  had 
been  brought  up.  But,  nevertheless,  it  was  very 
real  to  him.  There  were  good  and  bad  angels  in 
those  days,  who  fought  for  the  souls  of  men.  The 
powers  of  good  and  evil  were  invoked.  .  .  . 

The  Esquire  was  certain  that  this  sturdy  John 
Hull  had  come  into  his  life  with  a  set  purpose. 

He  was  riding  back  to  London  with  one  fixed 
idea  in  his  mind.  One  word  rang  and  chimed  in 
his  brain — the  word  was  "Elizabeth!" 

He  had  left  Chelmsford  with  John  Hull  defi- 


i34  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

nitely  enrolled  as  his  servant,  had  hired  a  horse  for 
him  from  the  landlord  of  the  "  Tun,"  and  had 
taken  him  straight  to  the  Tower.  When  he  had 
entered  within  the  walls,  he  had  told  his  man 
Thumb  that  he  would  dismiss  him  on  the  morrow, 
and  pay  him  his  wages  due.  He  had  told  him, 
moreover,  that — just  as  he  was  hurrying  to  the 
Privy  Garden  with  news  for  the  Queen — he  must 
take  John  Hull  to  his  quarters  and  put  him  into  the 
way  of  service.  For  a  moment,  Thumb  had  been 
inclined  to  be  insolent,  but  one  single  look  from 
the  dark,  cool  eyes,  one  hinted  flash  of  anger  upon 
the  oval  olive-coloured  face,  had  sent  the  Londoner 
humbly  to  what  he  had  to  do;  while  the  fellow 
looked,  not  without  a  certain  apprehension,  at  the 
thick-set  quiet  man  who  followed  him  to  be  shown 
his  new  duties.  .  .  . 

"The  Spanish  don  came  over  seas, 

Hey  ho  nonino ; 
A  Gracious  Lady  tried  to  please, 
Hey  ho  nonny. 

The  country  fellows  strung  their  bows, 

Hey  ho  nonino; 
What  'twill  be,  no  jack  man  knows! 

Hey  ho  nonny." 

Johnnie  jumped  up  from  his  bed,  strode  out  of 
the  room,  walked  a  yard  or  two  down  the  corridor, 
and  entered  another  and  larger  room,  which  he 
shared  with  three  other  members  of  the  suite. 

It  was  the  place  where  they  kept  their  armour, 
their  riding-boots,  and  some  of  their  swords. 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  135 

As  he  came  in  he  saw  that  Hull  was  sitting  upon 
an  overturned  barrel,  which  had  held  quarels  for 
cross-bows. 

The  man  had  tied  a  piece  of  sacking  round  his 
waist  and  over  his  breeches,  and  was  hard  at  work. 

Johnnie's  three  or  four  damascened  daggers 
were  rubbed  bright  with  hog's  lard  and  sand.  His 
extra  set  of  holster  pistols  gleamed  fresh  and  new 
: — the  rust  had  been  all  removed  from  flint-locks 
and  hammers;  while  the  stocks  shone  with  porpoise 
oil. 

And  now  the  new  servant  was  polishing  a  high- 
peaked  Spanish  saddle,  and  all  the  leather  trap- 
pings of  a  charger,  with  an  inside  crust  of  barley 
bread  and  a  piece  of  apple  rind. 

Directly  the  man  saw  his  new  master  he  stood 
up  and  made  a  saluting  motion  with  his  hand. 

Johnnie  looked  at  him  coldly,  though  inwardly 
he  felt  an  extreme  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  his  new 
recruit  so  lately  added  to  him,  so  swift  to  get  to 
work,  and  withal  so  blithe  about  it. 

'  You  must  not  sing  the  songs  I  have  heard  you 
singing,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  Don't  you  know 
where  you  are?  " 

"  I  had  forgotten,  sir,"  the  man  replied.  "  I 
have  a  plaguey  knowledge  of  rhymes.  They  do 
run  in  my  head,  and  must  out." 

'  They  must  not,  I  assure  you,"  Johnnie  an- 
swered, "  but  I  like  this  well  enough.  Hast  got 
thee  to  work  at  once,  then." 

"  I  love  it,  sir.     To  handle  such  stuff  as  yours 


136  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

is  rare  for  a  man  like  me.    Look  you  here,  sir  " 
he  lifted  up   a  small  dagger  which  he  withdrew 
from  its  sheath  of  stag's  leather,  dyed  vermilion — 
"  Hear  how  it  ringeth!  " 

He  twanged  the  supple  blade  with  his  fore- 
finger, and  the  little  shivering  noise  rang  out  into 
the  room. 

The  man's  keen,  brown  face  was  lit  up  with 
simple  enjoyment.  "  I  love  weapons,  master,"  he 
said,  as  if  in  apology. 

Johnnie  knew  at  once  that  here  was  the  man  he 
had  been  looking  for  for  weeks.  The  man  who 
cared,  the  faithful  man;  but  he  knew  also,  or 
thought  he  knew,  that  it  was  but  poor  policy  to 
praise  a  servant  unduly. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  you  can  get  on  with 
your  work.  To-morrow  morning,  I  will  see  you 
fitted  out  as  becometh  my  body  servant.  To- 
night you  will  go  below  with  the  other  men.  I 
have  spoken  to  the  intendant  that  I  have  a  new 
servant,  and  you  will  have  your  evening-meat  and 
a  place  to  lie  in." 

He  turned  to  go. 

With  all  his  soul  he  was  longing  to  ask  this  man 
certain  questions.  He  believed  that  he  had  been 
sent  to  him  to  tell  him  of  the  whereabouts  of  the 
girl  to  whom,  so  strangely,  at  such  a  dreadful 
hour,  he  had  vowed  his  life.  But  the  long  con- 
trol over  temperament  and  emotion  which  old 
Father  Chilches  had  imposed  upon  him — the  very 
qualities  which  made  him,  already,  a  successful 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  137 

courtier — stood  him  in  good  stead  now.  The 
dominant  desire  of  his  heart  was  to  be  repressed. 
He  knew  very  well,  he  realised  perfectly  clearly, 
how  intimate  a  member  of  Dr.  Taylor's  house- 
hold this  faithful  servant — "  the  faithfullest  serv- 
ant that  ever  man  had  " — must  have  been.  And 
knowing  it,  he  felt  sure  that  the  time  was  not  yet 
come  to  ask  John  Hull  any  questions.  He  must 
arouse  no  suspicions  within  the  man's  mind.  Hull 
had  entered  his  service  gladly,  and  promised  to  be 
more  than  adequate  and  worthy  of  any  trust  that 
could  be  reposed  in  him.  But  he  had  seen  John- 
nie riding  away  with  his  beloved  master,  one  of 
those  who  had  taken  him  to  torture  and  death. 
The  very  shrewdness  and  cleverness  imprinted 
upon  the  fellow's  face  were  enough  to  say  that  he 
would  at  once  take  alarm  at  any  questioning  about 
Dr.  Taylor's  family,  at  this  moment. 

John  Hull  scraped  with  his  foot  and  made  a 
clumsy  bow  as  his  new  master  turned  away.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  seemed  to  remember  something.  His 
face  changed  in  expression. 

"  God  forgive  me,  sir,"  he  said,  "  indeed,  I  had 
near  forgot  it.  When  I  went  into  your  chamber 
and  took  this  harness  for  cleaning,  there  was  a 
letter  lying  there  for  you.  I  can  read,  sir;  Dr. 
Taylor  taught  me  to  read  somewhat.  I  took  the 
letter,  fearing  that  it  might  be  overlooked  or  e'en 
taken  away,  for  there  are  a  plaguey  lot  of  serving- 
men  in  this  passage.  'Tis  here,  sir,  and  I  crave 
you  pardon  me  for  forgetting  of  it  till  now." 


i38  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

He  handed  Johnnie  a  missive  of  thick  yellow- 
brown  paper — such  as  was  woven  from  linen  rags 
at  Arches  Smithfield  Factory  of  that  day.  The 
letter  was  folded  four-square  and  tied  round  with 
a  cord  of  green  silk,  and  where  the  threads 
intersected  at  the  back  was  a  broad  seal  of 
dull  red  wax,  bearing  the  sign  of  a  lamb  in  its 
centre. 

Johnnie  pulled  off  the  cord,  the  wax  cracked, 
and  the  thick  yellow  paper  rustled  as  he  pulled 
it  open. 

This  was  the  letter: 

"  HONOURED  SIR, — This  from  my  house  in 
Chepe.  Thy  honoured  father  who  hath  lately  left 
the  City  hath  left  with  me  a  sum  of  money  which 
remaineth  here  at  your  charges,  and  for  your  dis- 
posal thereof  as  you  may  think  fit.  This  shall  be 
sent  to  you  upon  your  letter  and  signature,  to- 
morrow an  you  so  wish. 

"  Natheless,  should  you  come  to  my  house  to- 
night I  will  hand  it  into  your  keeping  in  gold 
coin.  I  will  say  that  Sir  Henry  expressed  hope 
that  you  might  care  to  come  to  my  poor  house 
which  has  long  been  the  agency  for  Commendone. 
For  your  father's  son,  sir,  there  will  be  very  open 
welcome. 

"  Your  obt.  svt., 

"  and  good  friend, 

"  ROBERT  CRESSEMER, 
"  Alderman  of  ye  City  of  London." 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  139 

Commendone  read  the  letter  through  with  care. 

His  father  had  been  most  generous  since  John- 
nie had  arrived  at  Court,  and  the  young  man  was 
in  no  need  of  money.  Sir  Henry  had,  indeed, 
hinted  that  further  supplies  would  be  sent  shortly, 
and  he  must  have  arranged  it  with  the  Alderman 
ere  he  left  the  City. 

Johnnie  sighed.  His  father  had  always  been 
good  to  him.  No  desire  of  his  had  ever  been  left 
ungratified.  Many  sons  of  noblemen  at  Court  had 
neither  such  a  generous  allowance  nor  perfect 
equipment  as  he  had.  He  never  thought  of  his 
father  and  the  old  house  in  Kent  without  a  little 
pang  of  regret.  Was  it  worth  it  all  ?  Were  not  the 
silent  woods  of  Commendone,  with  their  shy  forest 
creatures,  better  far  than  this  stately  citadel  and 
home  of  kings? 

His  life  had  been  so  tranquil  in  the  past.  The 
happy  days  had  gone  by  with  the  regularity  of 
some  slow-turning  wheel.  Now  all  was  stress  and 
turmoil.  Dark  and  dreadful  doings  encompassed 
him.  He  was  afloat  upon  strange  waters,  and  there 
was  no  pilot  aboard,  nor  did  he  know  what  port 
he  should  make,  what  unknown  coast-line  should 
greet  his  troubled  eyes  when  dawn  should  come. 

These  thoughts  were  but  fleeting,  as  he  sat  in 
his  bedroom,  where  he  had  taken  the  letter  from 
Mr.  Cressemer.  He  sent  them  away  with  an  effort 
of  will.  The  past  life  was  definitely  over;  now 
he  must  gather  himself  together  and  consider  the 
immediate  future  without  vain  regrets. 


i4o  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

As  he  mounted  the  stairs  from  the  Common 
Room  he  had  it  in  mind  to  change  from  his  riding 
costume  and  sleep.  He  needed  sleep.  He  wanted 
to  enter  that  mysterious  country  so  close  to  the 
frontiers  of  death,  to  be  alone  that  he  might  think 
of  Elizabeth.  He  knew  now  how  men  dreamed 
and  meditated  of  their  loves,  why  lovers  loved 
to  be  alone. 

He  held  the  letter  in  his  hand,  looking  down  at 
the  firm,  clear  writing  with  lack-lustre  eyes.  What 
should  he  do?  sleep,  lose  himself  in  happy  fancies, 
or  go  to  the  house  of  the  Alderman?  He  had 
no  Court  duties  that  night. 

He  knew  Robert  Cressemer's  name  well.  Every 
one  knew  it  in  London,  but  Commendone  had 
heard  it  mentioned  at  home  for  many  years.  Mr. 
Cressemer,  who  would  be  the  next  Lord  Mayor, 
was  one  of  those  merchant  princes  who,  ever  since 
the  time  of  that  great  commercial  genius,  Henry 
VII,  had  become  such  an  important  factor  in  the 
national  life. 

For  many  years  the  Alderman,  the  foundation 
of  whose  fortune  had  been  the  export  of  English 
wool,  had  been  in  intimate  relations,  both  of  busi- 
ness and  friendship,  with  Sir  Henry  Commendone. 
The  knight's  wool  all  went  to  the  warehouses  in 
Chepe.  He  had  shares  in  the  fleet  of  trading  ves- 
sels belonging  to  Cressemer,  which  supplied  the 
wool-fairs  of  Holland  and  the  Netherlands.  The 
childlike  and  absolutely  uneconomic  act  of  Edward 
VI  which  endeavoured  to  make  all  interest  illegal, 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  141 

and  enacted  that  "  whoever  shall  henceforth  lend 
any  sum  of  money  for  any  manner  of  usury,  in- 
crease, lucre,  gain  or  interest  to  be  had,  received, 
or  hoped  for,  over  and  above  the  sum  so  lent," 
should  suffer  serious  penalties,  had  been  repealed. 

Banking  had  received  a  tremendous  impetus, 
Robert  Cressemer  had  adventured  largely  in  it, 
and  Sir  Henry  Commendone  was  a  partner  with 
him  in  more  than  one  enterprise. 

Of  all  this  Johnnie  knew  nothing.  He  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  how  rich  his  father  was,  and 
knew  nothing  of  the  fortune  that  would  one  day 
be  his. 

He  did  know,  however,  that  Mr.  Cressemer  was 
a  very  important  person  indeed,  the  admired  and 
trusted  confidant  of  Sir  Henry,  and  a  man  of 
enormous  influence.  Such  a  letter,  coming  from 
such  a  man,  was  hardly  to  be  neglected  by  a  young 
courtier.  Johnnie  knew  how,  if  one  of  his  col- 
leagues had  received  it,  it  would  have  been  shown 
about  in  the  Common  Room,  what  rosy  visions  of 
fortune  and  paid  bills  it  would  invoke ! 

He  read  the  letter  again.  There  was  no  need 
to  go  to  Mr.  Cressemer's  house  that  night  if  he 
did  not  wish  to  do  so.  He  was  weary,  he  wanted 
to  be  alone  to  taste  and  savour  this  new  thing 
within  him  that  was  called  love.  Yet  something 
kept  urging  him  to  go,  nevertheless.  He  could 
not  quite  have  said  what  it  was,  though  again  the 
sense  that  he  stood  very  much  alone  and  friends 
were  good — especially  such  a  powerful  one  as  this 


i42  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

—crossed  his  mind.  And,  as  an  instance  of  the 
quite  unconscious  but  very  real  revolution  that  had 
taken  place  in  his  thoughts  during  the  last  forty 
hours,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  he  did  feel  the  need  of 
friends  and  supporters. 

Yet  he  was  high  in  favour  with  the  King  and 
Queen,  envied  by  every  one,  certain  of  rapid  ad- 
vancement. 

But  he  no  longer  thought  anything  of  this. 
Those  great  ones  were  on  one  side  of  a  great 
something  which  he  would  not  or  could  not  define. 
He  was  on  the  other,  he  and  the  girl  with  eyes  of 
crushed  sapphire  and  a  red  mouth  of  sorrow. 

It  would  be  politic  to  go.  ..."  I'll  put  it  to 
chance,"  he  said  to  himself  at  length.  "  How  doth 
Ovid  have  it?  .  .  . 

"  '  Casus  ubique  valet ;  semper  tibi  pendent  hantus  : 
Quo  minime  credas  gurgite,  piscis  erit.' 

I  remember  Father  Chilches'  translation: 

"  '  There's  always  room  for  chance,  so  drop  thy  hook, 
A  fish  there'll  be  when  least  for  it  you  look.' 

Here  goes !  " 

He  opened  his  purse  to  find  a  coin  with  which 
to  settle  the  matter,  and  poured  out  the  contents 
into  his  palm.  There  were  eight  or  nine  gold 
sovereigns  of  Henry  VIII,  beautiful  coins  with 
"  Hiberma  Rex "  among  the  other  titles,  which 
were  still  known  as  "  double  ryals,"  three  gold 
ducats,  coined  in  that  year,  with  the  Queen  and 


THE  HALF  TESTOON  143 

King  Consort  vis-a-vis  and  one  crown  above  the 
heads  of  both,  and  one  little  silver  half  testoon. 

He  put  the  gold  back  in  his  purse  and  held  out 
the  small  coin  upon  his  hand.  "  What  is't  to  be, 
little  testoon?  "  he  said  whimsically,  looking  at  the 
big  M  and  crown,  "  bed  and  thoughts  of  her,  or 
the  worshipful  Master  Cressemer  and,  I  don't 
doubt,  a  better  supper  than  I'm  likely  to  get  in  the 
.Tower?  '  M,'  I  go." 

He  spun  the  coin,  and  it  came  down  with  the 
initial  uppermost.  He  laughed  and  flung  it  on  to  a 
shelf,  calling  John  Hull  to  help  him  change  his 
dress. 

Nothing  told  him  that  in  that  spin  he  had  de- 
cided— or  let  it  better  be  said  there  was  decided 
for  him — the  whole  course  of  his  life.  At  that 
actual  moment ! 

Thus  the  intrusion  of  the  little  testoon. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH 

AT  a  little  before  nine  in  the  late  twilight,  Com- 
mendone  left  the  Tower.  He  was  attended  by 
John  Hull,  whom  he  had  armed  with  the  short 
cutlass-shaped  sword  which  serving-men  were  al- 
lowed to  wear. 

He  might  be  late,  and  the  City  was  no  very  safe 
place  in  those  days  for  people  returning  home 
through  the  dark.  Johnnie  knew,  moreover,  that 
he  would  be  carrying  a  considerable  sum  in  gold 
with  him,  and  it  was  as  well  to  have  an  attendant. 

They  walked  towards  Chepe,  Johnnie  in  front, 
his  man  a  yard  or  so  behind.  It  was  summer- 
time, but  even  in  summer  London  went  to  bed 
early,  and  the  prentices  were  returning  home  from 
their  cudgel-play  and  shooting  at  the  butts  in  Fins- 
bury  fields. 

The  sky  was  a  faint  primrose  above  the  spires 
of  the  town.  The  sun,  that  tempest  of  fire,  had 
sunk,  but  still  left  long  lines  in  the  sky,  lines  which 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  drawn  by  a  vermilion 
pencil;  while,  here  and  there,  were  locks,  friths, 
and  islands  of  gold  and  purple  floating  in  the  sky, 
billowed  and  upheaved  into  an  infinity  of  distant 
glory. 

144 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         145 

They  went  through  the  narrow  streets  beneath 
the  hundreds  of  coloured  signs  which  hung  from 
shop  and  warehouse. 

At  a  time  when  the  ordinary  porter,  prentice, 
and  messenger  could  hardly  read,  each  place  of 
business  must  signify  and  locate  itself  by  a  sign. 
A  merchant  of  those  days  did  not  send  a  letter 
by  hand  to  a  business  house,  naming  it  to  the  mes- 
senger. He  told  the  man  to  go  to  the  sign  of  the 
Three  Cranes,  the  Gold  Pig  on  a  black  ground, 
the  Tower  and  Dragon  in  such  and  such  a  street. 

London  was  not  lit  on  a  summer  night  at  this 
hour.  In  the  winter,  up  to  half-past  eight  or  so  the 
costers'  barrows  with  their  torches  provided  the 
only  illumination.  After  that  all  was  dark,  and  in 
summer  there  was  no  artificial  light  at  all  when  the 
day  had  gone. 

They  came  up  to  the  cross  standing  to  the  east 
of  Wood  Street,  which  was  silhouetted  against  the 
last  gleams  of  day  in  the  sky.  Its  hexagonal  form 
of  three  sculptured  tiers,  which  rose  from  one 
another  like  the  divisions  of  a  telescope,  cut  out 
a  black  pattern  against  the  coloured  background. 
The  niches  with  their  statues,  representing  many 
of  the  Sovereigns  of  England,  were  all  in  grey 
shadow,  but  the  large  gilt  cross  which  surmounted 
it  still  caught  something  of  the  evening  fires. 

To  the  east  there  was  the  smaller  tower  of 
octagonal  form,  which  was  the  Conduit,  and  here 
also  the  top  was  bathed  in  light — a  figure  standing 
upon  a  gilded  cone  and  blowing  a  horn. 


i46  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  gutters  in  the  streets  were  dry  now,  for  the 
rain  storm  of  two  days  ago  had  not  lasted  long, 
and  they  were  sticky  and  odorous  with  vegetable 
and  animal  filth. 

The  two  men  walked  in  the  centre  of  the  street, 
as  was  wiser  in  those  days,  for — as  still  happens  in 
the  narrow  quarters  of  old  French  towns  to-day — 
garret  windows  were  open,  and  pails  were  emptied 
with  but  little  regard  for  those  who  were  passing 
by. 

When  they  came  into  Chepe  itself,  things  were 
a  little  less  congested,  for  great  houses  were  built 
there,  and  Johnnie  walked  more  quickly.  Many 
of  the  houses  of  the  merchant  princes  were  but 
little  if  at  all  inferior  to  the  mansions  of  the  nobility 
at  that  time.  They  stood  often  enough  in  gloomy 
and  unfrequented  courts,  and  were  accessible  only 
by  inconvenient  passages,  but  once  arrived  at,  their 
interiors  were  of  extraordinary  comfort  and  mag- 
nificence. 

Johnnie  knew  that  Mr.  Cressemer's  house  was 
hereabouts,  but  was  not  certain  of  the  precise  loca- 
tion. He  looked  up  through  the  endless  succession 
of  Saracens'  heads,  Tudor  roses,  blue  bears,  and 
golden  lambs,  but  could  see  nothing  in  the  growing 
dark.  He  turned  round  and  beckoned  to  John 
Hull. 

'  You  know  the  City?  "  he  said. 

'  Very  well,  master,"  the  man  answered,  look- 
ing at  him,  so  Johnnie  thought,  with  a  very  strange 
expression. 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         147 

"  Then,  certes,  you  can  tell  me  the  house  of 
Master  Robert  Cressemer,  the  Alderman,"  said 
Johnnie. 

Hull  gave  a  sudden,  violent  start.  His  eyes, 
always  keen  and  alert,  now  grew  wide. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  know  that  house  very  well, 
but  what  do  you  there?" 

Johnnie  stared  at  him  in  amazement  for  a 
moment.  Then  the  blood  mantled  in  his  cheeks. 

"Sirrah,"  he  said,  "what  mean  you  by  this? 
What  is  it  to  you  where  I  go  or  what  I  do?  " 

There  was  nobody  in  their  immediate  vicinity 
at  the  moment,  and  the  thick-set  serving-man,  by 
a  quick  movement,  placed  himself  in  front  of  his 
master,  his  right  hand  upon  the  newly-provided 
sword,  his  left  playing  with  the  hilt  of  the  long 
knife  which  had  served  him  so  well  at  Chelmsford. 

"  I  said  I  would  be  loyal  to  ye,  master,"  the 
fellow  growled,  "  but  I  see  now  that  it  cannot  be. 
I  will  be  no  servant  of  those  who  do  burn  and 
slay  innocent  folk,  and  shalt  not  to  the  Alderman's 
if  thou  goest  with  evil  intent." 

An  enormous  surprise  almost  robbed  the  young 
man  of  his  anger. 

Was  this  man,  this  "  faithfullest  servant,"  some 
brigand  or  robber,  or  assassin,  in  disguise?  What 
could  it  mean?  His  hand  was  upon  his  sword  in 
a  moment,  it  was  ready  to  flash  out,  and  the 
accomplished  fencer  who  had  been  trained  in  every 
art  and  trick  of  sword-play,  knew  well  that  the 
strength  of  the  thick-set  man  before  him  would 


i48  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

avail  nothing.  But  he  waited  a  moment,  really 
more  interested  and  surprised  than  angered  or 
alarmed. 

"  I  don't  want  to  kill  you,  my  good  man,"  he 
said,  "  and  so  I  will  give  you  leave  to  speak.  But 
by  the  Mass!  this  is  too  much;  an  you  don't  ex- 
plain yourself,  in  the  kennel  and  carrion  you  lie." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  Hull  answered,  his 
face  taking  into  it  a  note  of  apology,  "  but  you 
come  from  the  Court;  you  rode  with  those  bloody 
villains  that  did  take  my  dear  master  that  was  to 
his  death.  Are  you  not  now  going  with  a  like 
intent  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Cressemer?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Johnnie  answered,  "  why  I 
should  explain  to  you  the  reason  for  my  visit  to  His 
Worship,  but  despite  this  gross  impudence,  I  will 
give  you  a  chance,  for  I  have  learnt  to  know  that 
there  is  often  an  explanation  behind  what  seemeth 
most  foul.  The  Alderman  is  one  of  the  oldest 
and  best  friends  my  father,  the  Knight  of  Kent, 
hath  ever  had.  The  letter  thou  gavest  me  two 
hours  agone  was  from  His  Worship  bidding  me  to 
supper.  And  now,  John  Hull,  what  hast  to  say 
before  I  slit  you  ?  " 

For  answer,  John  Hull  suddenly  fell  upon  his 
knees,  and  held  out  his  hands  in  supplication. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  in  a  humble  voice,  "  I  crave  that 
of  your  mercy  and  gentleness  you  will  forgive  me, 
and  let  this  pass.  Sure,  I  knew  you  for  a  gallant 
gentleman,  and  no  enemy  to  my  people  when  first 
I  saw  you.  I  marked  you  outside  St.  Botolph's 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         149 

Church,  and  knew  you  again  at  Chelmsford.  But 
I  thought  you  meant  harm.  ..." 

His  voice  died  away  in  an  inarticulate  mumble. 
He  seemed  enormously  sincere  and  penitent,  and 
dreadfully  embarrassed  also  by  some  knowledge 
or  thought  at  the  back  of  his  mind,  something 
which  he  feared,  or  was  unable  to  disclose. 

Johnnie's  heart  was  beating  strangely,  though 
he  did  not  know  why.  He  seemed  to  tread  into 
something  strange  and  unexpected.  Life  was  full 
of  surprises  now. 

All  he  said  was :  "  Make  a  fool  of  thyself  no 
longer,  John  Hull;  get  up  and  lead  me  to  His 
Worship's.  I  forgive  thee.  But  mark  you,  I  shall 
require  the  truth  from  you  anon." 

The  man  scrambled  up,  made  a  clumsy  bow,  and 
hurried  on  for  a  few  yards,  until  a  narrow  opening 
between  two  great  stacks  of  houses  disclosed  itself. 
He  walked  down  it,  his  shoes  echoing  upon  a  pave- 
ment stone.  Johnnie  followed  him,  and  they  came 
out  into  a  dark  courtyard  in  which  a  single  lantern 
of  glass  and  iron  hung  over  a  massive  door  studded 
with  nails. 

"  This  is  His  Worship's  house,"  said  John  Hull. 

Johnnie  went  up  to  the  door  and  beat  upon  it 
with  the  handle  of  his  dagger,  standing  on  the 
single  step  before  it.  In  less  than  half  a  minute, 
the  door  was  opened  and  a  serving-man  in  livery  of 
yellow  stood  before  him. 

"  Mr.  John  Commendone,"  Johnnie  said,  "  to  see 
His  Worship  the  Alderman  upon  an  invitation." 


150  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  man  bowed,  opened  the  door  still  wider, 
and  invited  Johnnie  into  a  large  flagged  hall,  lit 
by  three  silver  lamps. 

"  Worshipful  sir,"  he  said,  "  my  master  told 
me  that  perchance  you  would  be  a-coming  this 
night,  and  he  awaits  you  in  the  parlour." 

"  This  is  my  servant,"  Johnnie  said  to  the  man, 
and  even  as  he  did  so,  he  saw  a  look  of  immense 
surprise,  mingled  with  welcome,  upon  the  fellow's 
face. 

"  I  will  take  him  to  the  kitchen,  Your  Worship," 
the  man  said,  and  as  he  spoke,  a  footman  came 
out  of  a  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall, 
bowed  low  to  Johnnie,  and  led  him  up  a  broad 
flight  of  stairs. 

Commendone  shrugged  his  shoulders.  There 
were  mysteries  here,  it  seemed,  but  so  far  they 
were  none  of  his,  and  at  any  rate  he  was  within  the 
house  of  a  friend. 

At  first  there  was  no  evidence  of  any  particular 
luxury,  and  Johnnie  was  surprised.  Though  he 
had  little  idea  how  wealthy  his  own  father  had 
become,  the  great  house  of  Commendone  was  a 
very  stately,  well-found  place.  He  knew,  more- 
over, that  Mr.  Robert  Cressemer  was  one  of  the 
richest  citizens  of  London,  and  he  had  heard  his 
friends  talking  at  Court  of  the  state  and  splendour 
of  some  of  those  hidden  mansions  which  clustered 
in  the  environs  of  Chepeside,  Wood  Street,  and 
Basinghall  Street. 

He  had  not  gone  much  farther  in  his  progress 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         151 

when  he  knew.  He  passed  through  a  pair  of  fold- 
ing doors,  inlaid  with  rare  woods — a  novelty  to 
him  at  that  time,  for  he  had  never  travelled  in 
Italy  or  France.  He  walked  down  a  broad  corri- 
dor, the  walls  hung  with  pictures  and  the  floor 
tesselated  with  wood,  and  was  shown  by  another 
footman  who  was  standing  at  a  door  at  the  end 
of  the  corridor  into  a  superb  room,  wainscoted 
with  cedar  up  to  half  of  its  height,  and  above  it 
adorned  with  battles  of  gods  and  giants  in  fresco. 
The  room  was  brilliantly  lit  by  candles,  at  fre- 
quent intervals  all  round  the  panelled  walls,  and 
close  to  the  gilded  beading  which  divided  them 
from  the  frescoes  above,  were  arms  of  some  black 
wood  or  stone,  which  they  were  he  could  not  have 
said,  stretched  out,  and  holding  silver  sconces  in 
which  the  candles  were  set. 

It  was  as  though  gigantic  Moors  or  Nubians 
had  thrown  their  arms  through  the  wall  to  hold 
up  the  light  which  illuminated  this  large  and 
splendid  place.  At  one  end  of  the  room  was  a 
high  carved  fire-place,  and  though  it  was  summer, 
some  logs  of  green  elm  smouldered  and  crackled 
upon  the  hearth,  though  the  place  was  cool  enough. 

Seated  by  the  fireside  was  a  stout,  short,  elderly 
man,  with  a  pointed  grey  beard,  and  heavy  black 
eyebrows  from  beneath  which  large,  slightly  promi- 
nent, and  very  alert  eyes  looked  out.  His  hair 
was  white,  and  apparently  he  was  bald,  because  a 
skull  cap  of  black  velvet  covered  his  head.  He 
wore  a  ruff  and  a  long  surtout  of  wool  dyed  crim- 


i52  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

son,  and  pointed  here  and  there  with  braid  of  dark 
green  and  thin  lace  of  gold.  A  belt  of  white 
leather  was  round  his  middle,  and  from  it  hung 
a  chatelaine  of  silver  by  his  right  side,  from  which 
depended  a  pen  case  and  some  ivory  tablets.  On 
his  left  side,  Johnnie  noticed  that  a  short  service- 
able dagger  was  worn.  His  trunk  hose  were  of 
black,  his  shoes  easy  ones  of  Spanish  leather  with 
crimson  rosettes  upon  the  instep. 

"  Mr.  John  Commendone,"  said  the  footman. 

Mr.  Cressemer  rose  from  his  seat,  his  shrewd, 
capable  face  lighting  up  with  welcome. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  so  thou  hast  come  to  see  me, 
Mr.  Commendone.  'Tis  very  good  of  thee,  and 
a  welcome  sight  to  eyes  which  have  looked  upon 
your  father  so  often." 

He  went  up  to  the  slim  young  man  as  the  foot- 
man closed  the  door,  and  shook  him  warmly  by  the 
hand,  looking  him  in  the  face  meanwhile  with  a 
keen  wise  scrutiny,  which  made  Johnnie  feel  young, 
inexperienced,  a  little  embarrassed. 

He  felt  he  was  being  summed  up,  judged  and 
weighed,  appraised  in  the  most  kindly  fashion,  but 
by  one  who  did  not  easily  make  a  mistake  in  his 
estimate  of  men. 

At  Court,  King  Philip  had  regarded  him  with 
cold  interest,  the  Queen  herself  with  piercing  and 
more  lively  regard.  Since  his  arrival  in  London, 
Johnnie  had  been  used  to  scrutinies.  But  this  was 
different  from  any  other  he  had  known.  It  was 
eminently  human  and  kindly  first  of  all,  but  in  the 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         153 

second  place  it  was  more  searching,  more  real,  than 
any  other  he  had  hitherto  undergone.  In  short, 
a  king  or  queen  looked  at  a  courtier  from  a  certain 
point  of  view.  Would  he  serve  their  ends?  Was 
he  the  right  man  in  the  right  place?  Had  they 
chosen  well? 

There  was  nothing  of  this  now.  It  was  all  kind- 
liness mingled  with  a  grave  curiosity,  almost  with 
hope. 

Johnnie,  who  was  much  taller  than  Mr.  Cres- 
semer,  could  not  help  smiling  a  little,  as  the  bearded 
man  looked  at  him  so  earnestly,  and  it  was  his 
smile  that  broke  the  silence,  and  made  them  friends 
from  that  very  moment. 

The  Alderman  put  his  left  hand  upon  Johnnie's 
shoulder. 

"  Lad,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  the  voice 
of  a  leader  of  men,  "  lad,  I  am  right  glad  to  see 
thee  in  my  poor  house.  Art  thy  father's  son,  and 
that  is  enough  for  me.  Come,  sit  you  down  t'other 
side  of  the  fire.  Come,  come." 

With  kindly  geniality  the  merchant  bustled  his 
guest  to  a  chair  opposite  his  own,  and  made  him 
sit.  Then  he  stood  upon  a  big  hearthrug  of  bear- 
skin, rubbed  his  hands,  and  chuckled. 

"  When  I  heard  ye  announced,"  he  said,  "  I 
thought  to  myself,  '  Here's  another  young  gallant 
of  the  Court  keen  on  his  money;  he  hath  lost  no 
time  in  calling  for  it.'  But  now  I  see  thee,  and 
know  thee  for  what  thou  art — for  it  is  my  boast, 
and  a  true  one,  that  I  was  never  deceived  in  man 


i54  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

yet — I  see  my  apprehensions  were  quite  un- 
founded." 

Johnnie  bowed.  For  a  moment  or  two  he  could 
hardly  speak.  There  was  something  so  homelike, 
so  truly  kind,  in  this  welcome  that  his  nerves,  ter- 
ribly unstrung  by  all  he  had  gone  through  of  late, 
were  almost  upon  the  point  of  breakdown. 

This  was  like  home.  This  was  the  real  thing. 
iThis  was  not  the  Court — and  here  before  him  he 
knew  very  well  was  a  man  not  only  good  and 
kindly,  but  resolute  and  great. 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  thee  what  we'll  do,  Master 
Johnnie,  sith  thou  hast  come  to  me  so  kindly.  We 
will  sip  a  little  water  of  Holland — I'll  wager 
you've  tasted  nothing  like  it,  for  it  cometh  straight 
from  the  English  Exchange  house  at  Antwerp — 
and  then  we  will  to  supper,  where  you  will  meet 
my  dear  sister,  Mistress  Catherine  Cressemer, 
who  hath  been  the  long  companion  of  my  wid- 
owerhood,  and  ordereth  this  my  house  for 
me." 

He  turned  to  where  a  square  sheet  of  copper 
hung  from  a  peg  upon  a  cord  of  twisted  purple 
silk.  Taking  up  the  massive  silver  pen  case  at 
the  end  of  his  chatelaine,  he  beat  upon  the  gong, 
and  the  copper  thunder  echoed  through  the  big 
room. 

A  man  entered  immediately,  to  whom  Mr.  Cres- 
semer gave  orders,  and  then  sat  himself  down  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  fire. 

"  Your  father,"  he  said  confidentially,   "  came 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         155 

to  me  after  he  left  you  in  the  Tower  the  morning 
before  this.  He  was  very  pleased  with  what  he 
saw  of  you,  Master  Johnnie,  and  what  he  heard 
of  you  also.  Art  going  to  be  a  big  man  in  affairs 
without  doubt.  I  wish  I  had  met  ye  before.  I 
have  been  twice  to  Commendone  Park.  Once  when 
thou  wert  a  little  rosy  thing  of  two  year  old  or 
less,  and  the  Senora — Holy  Mary  give  her  grace! 
—had  thee  upon  her  knee.  I  was  staying  with 
the  Knight.  And  then  again  when  Father  Chil- 
ches  was  thy  tutor,  and  thou  must  have  been  four- 
teen year  or  more.  I  was  at  the  Park  for  three 
days.  But  thou  wert  away  with  thy  aunt,  Miss 
Commendone,  of  Wanstone  Court,  and  I  saw  noth- 
ing of  thee." 

"  So  you  knew  my  mother,"  Johnnie  said 
eagerly. 

"  Aye,  that  I  did,  and  a  very  gracious  lady  she 
was,  Master  Commendone.  I  will  tell  thee  of 
her,  and  thy  house  in  those  days,  at  supper.  My 
sister  will  be  well  pleased  to  hear  it  also.  Mean- 
while "  —he  sipped  at  the  white  liqueur  which 
the  servant  had  brought,  and  motioned  Johnnie 
towards  his  own  thin  green  glass  with  little  golden 
spirals  running  through  it — "  meanwhile,  tell  me 
how  like  you  the  Court  life?  " 

Johnnie  started.  They  were  the  exact  words  of 
his  father.  "  I  am  getting  on  very  well,"  he  said 
in  reply. 

"  So  I  hear,  and  am  well  pleased,"  the  Alder- 
man answered.  "  You  have  everything  in  your 


156  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

favour — a  knowledge  of  Spanish,  a  pleasant  pres- 
ence, and  trained  to  the  usage  of  good  society. 
But,  though  you  may  not  think  it,  I  have  influence, 
even  at  Court,  though  it  is  in  no  ways  apparent. 
Tell  me  something  of  your  aims,  and  your  views, 
and  I  shall  doubtless  be  able  to  help  your  advance- 
ment. There  are  ticklish  times  coming,  be  certain 
of  that,  and  my  experience  may  be  of  great  service 
to  you.  Her  Grace,  God  bless  her!  is,  I  fear — I 
speak  to  you  as  man  to  man,  Mr.  Commendone— 
too  keen  set  and  determined  upon  the  Papal  Su- 
premacy for  the  true  welfare  of  this  realm.  I  am 
Catholic.  I  have  always  been  Catholic.  But  doc- 
trine, and  a  purely  political  dominion  from  Rome, 
aye,  or  from  Spain  either,  is  not  what  we  of  the 
City,  and  who  control  the  finances  of  the  kingdom 
much  more  than  less,  desire  or  wish  to  see.  After 
all,  Mr.  Commendone,  I  trust  I  make  myself 
clearly  understood  to  you,  and  that  you  are  of  the 
same  temper  and  mind  as  your  father  and  myself; 
after  all  is  loudly  set  and  perchance  badly  done, 
we  have  to  look  to  the  upholding  of  the  realm, 
inside  and  out,  rather  than  to  be  fine  upon  points 
of  doctrine." 

He  leant  forward  in  his  seat  with  great  earnest- 
ness, clasped  his  right  hand,  upon  the  little  finger 
of  which  was  a  great  ring,  with  a  cut  seal  of 
emerald,  and  brought  it  down  heavily  upon  the 
table  by  his  side. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said,  "  in  the  Mass,  and  if  I 
were  asked  to  die  for  my  belief,  that  would  I  do. 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         157 

I  would  do  it  very  reluctantly,  Master  John.  I 
would  evade  the  necessity  for  doing  it  in  every 
way  I  knew.  But  if  I  were  set  down  in  front  of 
judges  or  eke  inquisitors,  and  asked  to  say  that 
when  the  priest  hath  said  the  words  of  consecration, 
the  elements  are  not  the  very  true  body  of  Our 
Lord  Jesus,  then  I  would  die  for  that  belief.  And 
of  the  Invocation  of  Saints,  and  of  the  greatest 
saint  of  all — Our  Lady — I  see  no  harm  in  it,  but 
a  very  right  and  pleasant  practice.  For,  look  you, 
if  these  are  indeed,  as  we  believe  and  know  cluster- 
ing around  the  throne  of  God,  Which  is  the  Holy 
Trinity,  then  indeed  they  must  hear  our  prayers, 
if  we  believe  truly  in  the  Communion  of  Saints; 
and  hearing  them,  being  in  high  favour  in  heaven, 
their  troubles  past  and  they  glorified,  certes,  we 
down  here  may  well  think  their  voices  will  be  heard 
around  the  Throne.  That  is  true  Catholic  doc- 
trine as  I  see  it.  But  of  the  power  of  the  Bishop 
of  Rome  to  direct  and  interfere  in  the  honest  inter- 
nal affairs  of  a  country — well,  I  snap  my  fingers 
at  it.  And  of  the  power  of  the  priesthood,  which 
is  but  part  of  the  machinery  by  which  His  Holi- 
ness endeavoureth  to  accrue  to  himself  all  earthly 
power,  at  that  also  I  spit.  From  my  standpoint,  a 
priest  is  an  ordained  man  of  God;  his  function  is 
to  say  Mass,  to  consecrate  the  elements,  and  so  to 
bring  God  near  to  us  upon  the  altar.  But  of  your 
confessions,  your  pryings  into  family  life,  your 
temporal  dominion,  I  have  the  deepest  mistrust. 
And  also,  I  think,  that  the  cause  of  Holy  Church 


1 58  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

would  be  much  better  served  if  its  priests  were 
allowed — for  such  of  them  as  wished  it — to  be  mar- 
ried men.  A  man  is  a  man,  and  God  hath  given 
him  his  natural  attributes.  I  am  not  really  learned, 
nor  am  I  well  read  in  the  history  of  the  world,  but 
I  have  looked  into  it  enough,  Master  Commen- 
done,  to  know  that  God  hath  ordained  that  men 
should  take  women  in  marriage  and  rear  up  chil- 
dren for  the  glory  of  the  Lord  and  the  welfare  of 
the  State.  Mark  you  " — his  face  became  striated 
with  lines  of  contempt  and  dislike— "  mark  you, 
this  celibacy  is  to  be  the  thing  which  will  destroy 
the  power  of  the  sacrificing  priest  in  the  eyes  of 
all  before  many  hundred  years  have  passed.  I 
shall  not  see  it,  thou  wilt  not  see  it.  We  are  good 
Church  of  England  men  now,  but  what  I  say  will 
come  to  pass,  and  then  God  himself  only  knoweth 
what  anarchs  and  deniers,  what  blasphemers  and 
runagates  will  hold  the  world. 

"  Her  Grace,"  he  went  on,  "  believeth  that  as 
Moses  ordered  blasphemers  to  be  put  to  death,  so 
she  thinketh  it  the  duty  of  a  Christian  prince  to 
eradicate  the  cockle  from  the  fold  of  God's 
Church,  to  cut  out  the  gangrene  that  it  may  not 
spread  to  the  sounder  parts.  But  Her  Grace  is  a 
woman  that  hath  been  much  sequestered  all  her 
life  till  now.  She  cometh  to  the  throne,  and  is  but 
— I  trust  I  speak  no  treason,  Mr.  Commendone — 
a  tool  and  instrument  of  the  priests  from  Spain, 
and  the  man  from  Spain  also  who  is  her  lord. 
Why!  if  only  the  Church  in  this  realm  could  go 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         159 

on  as  King  Henry  started  it — not  a  new  Church, 
mind  you,  but  a  Church  which  hath  thrown  off 
an  unnecessary  dominion  from  Italy — if  it  could 
go  on  as  under  the  reign  of  the  little  King  Edward 
was  set  out  and  promised  very  well,  'twould  be 
truly  Catholic  still,  and  the  priests  of  the  Church 
would  be  all  married  men  and  citizens  within 
the  State,  with  a  stake  in  civil  affairs,  and  so  by 
reason  of  their  spiritual  power  and  civil  obliga- 
tions, the  very  bulwark  of  society." 

Johnnie  listened  intently,  nodding  now  and  then 
as  the  Alderman  made  a  point,  and  as  he  himself 
realised  the  value  of  it. 

"  Look  you,  Master  Commendone,"  His  Wor- 
ship continued,  "  look  you,  only  yesterday  a  worthy 
clergyman,  whom  I  knew  and  loved,  a  man  of  his 
inches,  a  shrewd  and  clever  gentleman  of  good 
birth,  was  haled  from  the  City  down  to  his  own 
parish  and  burnt  as  a  heretic.  Heretic  doubtless 
the  good  man  was.  He  would  be  living  now  if  he 
had  not  denied  the  blessed  and  comforting  truth  of 
Transubstantiation  before  that  bloodstained  wolf, 
the  Bishop  of  London.  The  man  I  speak  of  was 
a  good  man,  and  though  he  was  mistaken  on  that 
issue,  he  would,  under  kindlier  auspices,  doubtless 
have  returned  to  the  central  truth  of  our  religion. 
He  was  married,  and  had  lived  in  honourable  wed- 
lock with  his  wife  for  many  years.  She  was  a 
lady  from  Wales,  and  a  sweet  woman.  But  it  was 
his  marriage  as  much  as  any  other  thing  about  him 
that  brought  him  to  his  death." 


160  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  Alderman's  voice  sank  into  something  very 
like  a  whisper.  "  One  of  my  men,"  he  said,  "  was 
riding  down  with  the  Sheriff  of  London  to  Hadley, 
where  Dr.  Taylor,  he  of  whom  I  speak,  suffered 
this  very  morning.  At  five  this  afternoon  my  man 
was  back,  and  told  me  how  the  good  doctor  died. 
He  died  with  great  constancy,  very  much,  Mr. 
Commendone,  as  one  of  the  old  saints  that  the 
Romans  did  use  so  cruelly  in  the  early  years  of  Our 
Lord's  Church.  Yet,  as  something  of  a  student  of 
affairs — and  Dr.  Taylor  is  not  the  first  good  heretic 
who  hath  died  rather  than  recant — I  see  that  the 
married  clergy  suffer  with  the  most  alacrity.  And 
why?  Because,  as  I  see  it,  they  are  bearing  testi- 
mony to  the  validity  and  sanctity  of  their  marriage. 
The  honour  of  their  wives  and  children  is  at  stake; 
the  desire  of  leaving  them  an  unsullied  name  and 
a  virtuous  example,  combined  with  a  sense  of  re- 
ligious duty.  And  thus  the  heart  derives  strength 
from  the  very  ties  which  in  other  circumstances 
might  well  tend  to  weaken  it. 

"  I  am  in  mourning  to-night,  mourning  in  my 
heart,  Mr.  Commendone,  for  a  good,  mistaken 
friend  who  hath  suffered  death." 

As  his  voice  fell,  the  Alderman  was  looking 
sadly  into  the  red  embers  of  the  fire  with  the  music 
of  a  deep  sadness  and  regret  in  his  voice.  He 
wasn't  an  emotional  man  at  all — by  nature  that  is 
—Johnnie  saw  it  at  once.  But  he  saw  also  that  his 
host  was  very  deeply  moved.  Johnnie  rose  from 
his  chair. 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         161 

"  You  are  telling  me  no  news  at  all,  Mr.  Alder- 
man," he  said.  "  I  had  orders,  and  I  was  one  of 
those  who  rode  with  Sir  John  Shelton  and  the 
Sheriff  to  take  Dr.  Taylor  to  the  stake  at  Aldham 
Common." 

Mr.    Cressemer  started  violently. 

"  Mother  of  God !  "  he  said,  "  did  you  see  that 
done?" 

Johnnie  nodded.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak. 

The  Alderman's  cry  of  horror  brought  home 
to  him  almost  for  the  first  time  not  the  terror  of 
what  he  had  seen — that  he  had  realised  long  ago — 
but  a  sense  of  personal  guilt,  a  disgust  with  himself 
that  he  should  have  been  a  participator  in  such  a 
deed,  a  spectator,  however  pitying. 

He  felt  unclean. 

Then  he  said  in  a  low  voice :  "  What  I  tell  you, 
Mr.  Cressemer,  will,  I  know,  remain  as  a  secret 
between  us.  I  feel  I  am  not  betraying  any  trust  in 
telling  you.  I  am,  as  you  know,  attached  to  the 
person  of  His  Majesty,  and  I  have  been  admitted 
into  great  confidence  both  by  him  and  Her  Grace 
the  Queen.  The  King  rode  to  Hadley  disguised 
as  a  simple  cavalier,  and  I  was  with  him  as  his 
attendant." 

He  stopped  short,  feeling  that  the  explanation 
was  bald  and  unsufficing. 

The  Alderman  stepped  up  to  Johnnie  and  put 
his  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Poor  lad,  poor  lad," 
he  said  in  tones  of  deepest  pity.  "  I  grieve  in  that 


1 62  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

thou  hadst  to  witness  such  a  thing  in  the  following 
of  thy  duty." 

"  I  had  thought,"  the  young  man  faltered,  his 
assurance  deserting  him  for  a  moment  at  the  words 
of  this  reverend  and  broad-souled  man,  "  I  thought 
you  would  think  me  stained  in  some  wise,  Mr. 
Cressemer.  I  .  .  ." 

"  Whist!  "  the  elder  man  answered  impatiently. 
"  Have  no  such  foolish  thoughts.  Am  I  not  a 
man  of  affairs?  D&  1  not  know  what  discipline 
means?  But  this  gives  me  great  cause  for  thought. 
You  have  confided  in  me,  Mr.  Commendone,  and 
so  likewise  will  I  in  you.  This  morning  the  Doc- 
tor's wife,  his  little  son,  and  little  daughter  Mary, 
set  off  for  the  Marches  of  Wales  with  a  party  of 
my  men  and  their  baggage.  Mistress  Taylor  was 
born  a  Rhyader,  of  a  good  family  in  Conway  town. 
Her  brother  liveth  there,  and  all  her  friends  are 
of  Wales.  It  was  as  well  that  the  dame  should 
leave  the  City  at  once,  for  none  knoweth  what  will 

be  done  to  the  relations  of  heretics  at  this  time 

Why,  man !     Thou  art  white  as  linen,  thy  hand 
shakes.    What  meaneth  it?  " 

Johnnie,  in  truth,  was  a  strange  sight  as  he  stood 
in  front  of  his  host.  All  his  composure  was  gone. 
His  eyes  burnt  in  a  white  face,  his  lips  were  dry 
and  parted,  there  was  an  almost  terrible  inquiry 
in  his  whole  aspect  and  manner. 

'Tis  nothing,"  he  managed  to  say  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  which  he  hardly  knew  for  his  own.  "  Pr'y- 
thee  continue,  sir." 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         163 

Mr.  Cressemer  gave  the  young  man  a  keen, 
questioning  glance  before  he  went  on  speaking. 
Then  he  said: 

"  As  I  tell  you,  these  members  of  the  good  Doc- 
tor's family  are  now  safely  on  their  way,  and  God 
grant  them  rest  and  peace  in  their  new  life.  They 
will  want  for  nothing.  But  the  Doctor's  other 
daughter,  Mistress  Elizabeth,  was  not  his  own 
daughter,  but  was  adopted  by  him  when  she  was 
but  a  little  child.  The  girl  is  a  very  sweet  and  good 
girl,  and  my  sister,  Mistress  Catherine,  has  long 
loved  her.  And  as  this  is  a  childless  house,  alasl 
the  maid  hath  come  to  live  with  us  and  she  will 
be  as  my  own  daughter,  if  God  wills  it." 

"She  is  well?"  Johnnie  asked,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

The  Alderman  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  She  is 
the  bravest  maiden  I  have  ever  met,"  he  said. 
"  She  hath  stuff  in  her  which  recalls  the  ladies  of 
old  Rome,  so  calm  and  stedfast  is  she.  There  is 
in  her  at  this  time  some  divine  illumination,  Mr. 
Commendone,  that  keepeth  her  strong  and  un- 
afraid. Ah,  but  she  is  sore  stricken !  She  knew 
some  hours  agone  of  the  doings  at  Hadley,  for  as 
I  told  you,  one  of  my  men  brought  the  news.  She 
hath  been  in  prayer  a  long  time,  poor  lamb,  and 
now  my  sister  is  with  her  to  hearten  her  and  give 
her  such  comfort  as  may  be.  God's  ways  are  very 
strange,  Mr.  John.  Who  would  have  thought  now 
that  you  should  come  to  this  house  to-night  from 
that  butchery?"  He  sighed  deeply. 


i64  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Johnnie  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  "  God 
moveth  in  a  mysterious  way,"  he  said,  "  to  perform 
His  wonders.  He  rides  upon  the  tempest,  and 
eke  directs  the  storm,  and  leadeth  pigmy  men  and 
women  with  a  sure  hand  and  a  certain  pur- 
pose." 

"  Say  not  '  pigmy,'  Mr.  John,"  the  Alderman 
answered,  "  we  are  not  small  in  His  eyes,  though 
it  is  well  that  we  should  be  in  our  own.  But  you 
speak  with  a  certain  meaning.  You  grew  pale  just 
now.  I  think  you  may  justly  confide  in  me.  I  am 
of  thy  father's  age,  and  a  friend  of  thy  father's. 
What  is  it,  lad?" 

Speaking  with  great  difficulty,  looking  down- 
wards at  the  floor,  Johnnie  told  him.  He  told  him 
how  he  had  met  John  Hull  and  taken  him  into 
his  service,  how  that  even  now  the  man  was  in 
the  kitchen  among  the  servants  of  the  Alderman. 
He  told  of  the  fellow's  menace  in  Chepe,  and  how 
inexplicable  it  had  seemed  to  him.  Then  he  hesi- 
tated, and  his  voice  sunk  into  silence. 

'  Ye  saw  the  poor  lamb?  "  Mr.  Cressemer  said 
in  a  low  voice,  which  nevertheless  trembled  with 
excitement.  "  Ye  saw  her  weeping  as  good  Dr. 
Taylor  was  borne  away  ?  Ye  took  this  good  varlet 
Hull  into  thy  service?  And  now  thou  art  in  my 
house.  It  seemeth  indeed  that  God's  finger  is 
writing  in  the  book  of  thy  life;  but  I  must  hear 
more  from  thee,  Mr.  Commendone.  Tell  me,  if 
thou  wilt,  what  it  may  mean." 

Johnnie  straightened  himself.    He  put  his  hand 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         165 

upon  the  pummel  of  his  sword.     He  looked  his 
host  full  in  the  eyes. 

"  It  means  this,  sir,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet  and 
resolute  voice.  "  All  my  life  I  have  kept  myself 
from  those  pleasures  and  peccadilloes  that  young 
gentlemen  of  my  station  are  wont  to  use.  I  have 
never  looked  upon  a  maiden  with  eyes  of  love — 
or  worse.  Before  God  His  Throne,  Our  Lady 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  all  the  crowned  saints  I 
say  it.  But  yester  morn,  when  I  saw  her  weeping , 
in  the  grey,  my  heart  went  out  from  me,  and  is  no 
more  mine.  I  vowed  then  that  by  God's  grace 
I  would  be  her  knight  and  lover  for  ever  and  a 
day.  My  employment  hath  not  to-day  given  me 
the  opportunity  to  go  to  Mass,  but  I  have  prom- 
ised myself  to-morrow  morn  that  in  the  chapel  of 
St.  John  I  will  vow  myself  to  her  with  all  fealty, 
and  indeed  nor  man,  nor  power,  nor  obstacle  of 
any  sort  shall  keep  me  from  her,  if  God  allows. 
Wife  she  shall  be  to  me,  an  so  I  can  make  her  love 
me.  All  this  I  swear  to  you,  by  my  honour  " — here 
he  pulled  his  sword  from  the  scabbard  and  rever- 
ently kissed  the  hilt — "  and  to  the  Blessed  Trinity." 
And  now  he  pulled  his  crucifix  from  his  doublet, 
and  kissed  it. 

Then  he  turned  away  from  the  Alderman,  took 
a  few  steps  to  the  fire-place,  and  leant  against 
the  carving,  his  head  bowed  upon  his  arms. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  big  room. 
Tears  were  gathering  in  the  eyes  of  the  grave 
elderly  man,  while  his  mind  worked  furiously.  He 


1 66  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

saw  in  all  this  the  direct  hand  of  Providence  work- 
ing towards  a  definite  and  certain  end. 

He  had  loved  the  slim  and  gracious  lad  directly 
he  saw  him.  His  heart  had  gone  out  to  one  so 
gallant  and  one  so  debonair,  the  son  of  his  old 
and  trusted  friend.  He  had  long  loved  the  Rector 
of  Hadley's  sweet  daughter,  who  was  so  idolised 
also  by  Mistress  Catherine  Cressemer,  his  sister. 
During  the  reign  of  Edward  VI  the  girl  had 
often  come  up  to  London  to  spend  some  months 
with  her  wealthy  and  influential  friends.  She 
had  a  great  part  in  the  heart  of  the  childless 
widower. 

Now  this  strange  and  wonderful  thing  had  hap- 
pened. 

These  thoughts  passed  through  the  old  man's 
mind  in  a  few  seconds,  while  the  silence  was  not 
broken.  Then,  as  he  was  about  to  turn  and  speak 
to  Johnnie,  the  door  of  the  room  opened  quickly, 
and  a  short,  elderly  woman  hurried  in. 

She  was  very  simply  dressed  in  grey  woollen 
stuff,  though  the  bodice  and  skirt  were  edged  with 
costly  fur.  The  white  lace  of  Bruges  upon  her 
head  framed  a  face  of  great  sweetness,  and  now 
it  was  alive  with  excitement. 

She  was  a  little  woman,  fifty  years  of  age,  with 
a  flat  wrinkled  face;  but  her  eyes  were  full  of 
kindness,  and,  indeed,  so  was  her  whole  face,  al- 
though her  lips  were  drawn  in  by  the  loss  of  her 
front  teeth,  and  this  gave  her  a  rather  witch-like 
mouth. 


FINDING  OF  ELIZABETH         167 

"  Robert !  Robert !  "  she  said  in  a  high,  excited 
voice.  '  John  Hull,  that  was  servant  to  our  dear 
Doctor,  is  in  this  house.  The  men  have  him  in  the 
kitchen — word  has  just  been  sent  up  to  me.  What 
shall  we  do?  Dear  Lizzie — she  is  more  tranquil 
now,  and  bearing  her  cross  very  bravely — dear 
Lizzie  had  thought  not  to  see  him  again.  Will 
it  be  well  that  we  should  have  him  up  ?  Think  you 
the  child  can  bear  seeing  him?" 

The  lady  had  piped  this  out  in  a  rush  of  excited 
words.  Then  suddenly  she  saw  Johnnie,  who  had 
turned  round  and  stood  by  the  fire,  bowing.  His 
face  was  drawn  and  white,  and  he  was  trem- 
bling. 

"  Catherine,"  Mr.  Cressemer  said,  "  strange 
things  are  happening  to-night,  of  which  I  must 
speak  with  you  anon.  But  this  is  Mr.  John  Com- 
mendone,  son  of  our  dear  Knight  of  Kent,  who 
hath  come  to  see  me,  and  who  haply  or  by  design 
of  God  was  forced  to  witness  the  death  of  Dr. 
Rowland  this  morning." 

Johnnie  made  a  low  bow,  the  little  lady  a  lower 
curtsey. 

Then,  heedless  of  all  etiquette,  with  the  tears 
streaming  down  her  cheeks,  she  trotted  up  to  the 
young  man  and  caught  hold  of  both  his  hands, 
looking  up  at  him  with  the  saddest,  kindest  face 
he  had  ever  seen. 

"  Oh,  boy,  boy,"  she  said,  "  thou  hast  come  at 
the  right  time.  We  know  with  what  constancy 
the  Doctor  died,  but  our  lamb  will  be  well  con- 


1 68  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

tent  to  hear  of  it  from  kindly  lips,  for  she  is  very 
strong  and  stedfast,  the  pretty  dear  I  And  thou 
hast  a  good  face,  and  surely  art  a  true  son  of  thy 
father,  Sir  Henry  of  Commendone." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   KING  AND  A   VICTIM.      TWO  GRIM  MEN 

THERE  was  a  "  Red  Mass,"  a  votive  Mass  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  sung  on  the  next  morning  in  the 
Tower. 

The  King  and  Queen,  with  all  the  Court,  were 
present. 

Johnnie  knelt  with  the  gentlemen  attached  to 
the  persons  of  the  King  and  Queen,  the  gentle- 
men ushers  behind  them,  and  then  the  military 
officers  of  the  guard. 

The  Ven'i  Creator  Spiritus  was  intoned  by  the 
Chancellor,  and  the  music  of  the  Mass  was  that 
of  Dom  Giovanni  Palestrina,  director  of  sacred 
music  at  the  Vatican  at  that  time. 

The  music,  which  by  its  dignity  and  beauty  had 
alone  prevented  the  Council  of  Trent  from  pro- 
hibiting polyphonic  music  at  the  Mass,  had  a 
marvellous  appeal  to  the  Esquire.  It  was  founded 
upon  a  canto  fermo,  a  melody  of  an  ancient  plain 
song  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  used  in  High  Mass 
from  a  very  remote  period. 

The  six  movements  of  the  Kyrie,  Gloria,  Credo, 
Sanctus,  Benedictus,  and  Agnus  Dei  were  of  a 
superlative  technical  excellence.  The  trained  ear, 
the  musical  mind,  were  alike  enthralled  by  them. 

169 


1 70  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Tinel,  Waddington,  and  Christopher  Tye  had 
written  no  music  then,  and  the  mellow  angelic  har- 
monies of  Messer  Palestrina  were  all  new  and 
fresh  in  their  inspiration  of  dignity,  grandeur,  and 
devotion,  most  precious  incense,  as  it  were,  about 
the  feet  of  the  Lord. 

The  Bishop  of  London  was  celebrant,  and 
Father  Deza  deacon.  The  Queen  and  King  re- 
ceived in  the  one  Kind,  while  two  of  the  re-estab- 
lished Carthusians  from  Sheen,  and  two  Brigittine 
monks  from  Sion,  held  a  white  cloth  before  Their 
Graces. 

This  was  not  liked  by  many  there — it  had  al- 
ways been  the  privilege  of  peers. 

But  of  this  Commendone  knew  nothing.  The 
hour  was  for  him  one  of  the  deepest  devotion  and 
solemnity.  He  had  not  slept  all  the  night  long. 
For  a  few  moments  he  had  seen  Elizabeth,  had 
spoken  with  her,  had  held  her  by  the  hand.  His 
life  was  utterly  and  absolutely  changed.  His  mind, 
excited  with  want  of  sleep,  irrevocably  stamped 
and  impressed  by  the  occupation  of  the  last  two 
days,  was  caught  up  by  the  exquisite  music  into  a 
passionate  surrender  of  self  as  he  vowed  his  life 
to  God  and  his  lady. 

Earth  and  all  it  held — save  only  her — was  ut- 
terly dissolved  and  swept  away.  An  unspeakable 
peace  and  stillness  was  in  his  heart. 

Much,  we  read,  is  required  from  those  to  whom 
much  is  given,  and  Johnnie  was  to  go  through 
places  far  more  terrible  than  the  Valley  of  the 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM  171 

Shadow  of  Death  ever  is  to  most  men  before  he 
saw  the  Dawn. 

When  the  Mass  was  said — the  final  "  Missa 
est "  was  to  ring  in  the  young  man's  ears  for  many 
a  long  day — he  went  to  breakfast.  He  took  noth- 
ing in  the  Common  Room,  however,  but  John 
Hull  brought  him  food  in  his  own  chamber. 

The  man's  brown,  keen  face  beamed  with  hap- 
piness. He  was  like  some  faithful  dog  that  had 
lost  one  master  and  found  another.  He  could  not 
do  enough  for  Johnnie  now — after  the  visit  to 
Mr.  Cressemer's  house.  He  took  charge  of  him 
as  if  he  had  been  his  man  for  years.  There  was 
a  quiet  assumption  which  secretly  delighted  Com- 
mendone.  There  they  were,  master  and  man,  a 
relationship  fixed  and  settled. 

On  that  afternoon  there  was  to  be  a  tourna- 
ment in  the  tilting  yard,  and  Johnnie  meant  to 
ride — he  had  nearly  carried  away  the  ring  at  the 
last  joust.  Hull  knew  of  it — in  a  few  hours  the 
fellow  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  his  place  in  an 
extraordinary  fashion — and  he  had  been  busy  with 
his  master's  armour  since  early  dawn. 

While  Johnnie  was  making  his  breakfast,  though 
he  would  very  willingly  have  been  alone,  and  in- 
deed had  retired  for  that  very  purpose,  Hull  came 
bustling  in  and  out  of  the  armour-room  his  face  a 
brown  wedge  of  pleasure  and  excitement.  The 
volante  piece,  the  mentonniere,  the  grande-garde 
of  his  master's  exquisite  suite  of  light  Milan 
armour  shone  like  a  newly-minted  coin.  The  black 


i72  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

and  lacquered  cuirasse,  with  a  line  of  light  blue 
enamel  where  it  would  meet  the  gorget,  was  oiled 
and  polished — he  had  somehow  found  the  little  box 
of  bandrols  with  the  Commendone  colour  and 
cypher  which  were  to  be  tied  above  the  coronels 
of  Johnnie's  lances. 

And  all  the  time  John  Hull  chattered  and 
worked,  perfectly  happy,  perfectly  at  home.  Al- 
ready, to  Commendone's  intense  amusement,  the 
man  had  become  dictatorial — as  old  and  trusted 
servants  are.  He  had  got  some  powder  of  resin, 
and  was  about  to  pour  it  into  the  jointed  steel 
gauntlet  of  the  lance  hand. 

"  It  gives  the  grip,  master,"  he  said.  "  By  this 
means  the  hand  fitteth  better  to  the  joints  of  the 
steel." 

"  But  'tis  never  used  that  I  know  of.  'Tis  not 
like  the  grip  of  a  bare  hand  on  the  ash  stave  of  a 
pike.  ..." 

There  was  a  technical  discussion,  which  ended  in 
Johnnie's  defeat — at  least,  John  Hull  calmly  pow- 
dered the  inside  of  the  glaive. 

He  was  got  rid  of  at  last,  sent  to  his  meal  with 
the  other  serving-men,  and  Commendone  was  left 
alone.  He  had  an  hour  to  himself,  an  hour  in 
which  to  recall  the  brief  but  perfect  joy  of  the 
night  before. 

They  had  taken  him  to  Elizabeth  after  supper, 
his  good  host  and  hostess.  There  was  something 
piteously  sweet  in  the  tall  slim  girl  in  her  black 
dress — the  dear  young  mouth  trembling,  the  blue 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          173 

eyes  full  of  a  mist  of  unshed  tears,  the  hair  ripest 
wheat  or  brownest  barley. 

She  had  taken  his  hand — hers  was  like  cool 
white  ivory — and  listened  to  him  as  a  sister 
might. 

He  had  sat  beside  her,  and  told  her  of  her 
father's  glorious  death.  His  dark  and  always 
rather  melancholy  face  had  been  lit  with  sympathy 
and  tenderness.  Quite  unconscious  of  his  own 
grace  and  grave  young  dignity,  he  had  dwelt  upon 
the  Martyr's  joy  at  setting  out  upon  his  last  jour- 
ney, with  an  incomparable  delicacy  and  perfection 
of  phrase. 

His  voice,  though  he  knew  it  not,  was  full  of 
music.  His  extreme  good  looks,  the  refinement  and 
purity  of  his  face,  came  to  the  poor  child  with  a 
wonderful  message  of  consolation. 

When  he  told  her  how  a  brutal  yeoman  had 
thrown  a  faggot  at  the  Archdeacon,  she  shuddered 
and  moaned  a  little. 

Mr.  Cressemer  and  his  sister  looked  at  Johnnie 
with  reproach. 

But  he  had  done  it  of  set  purpose.  "  And  then, 
Mistress  Elizabeth,"  he  continued,  "  the  Doctor 
said,  '  Friend,  I  have  harm  enough.  What  need- 
eth  that?'" 

His  hand  had  been  upon  his  knee.  She  caught 
it  up  between  her  own — innocent,  as  to  a  brother, 
unutterably  sweet. 

."Oh,   dear   Father!"   she   cried.      "It  is  just 
what  he  would  have  said.     It  is  so  like  him !  " 


i74  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  It  is  liker  Christ  our  Lord,"  Robert  Cressemer 
broke  in,  his  deep  voice  shaking  with  sorrow. 
"  For  what,  indeed,  said  He  at  His  cruel  nailing? 

'  TLa.rt.py  a<pes  avrois  ov  yap  oiSacri  TI  Troivcn.'  " 

.  .  .  And  then  they  had  sent  Johnnie  away, 
marvelling  at  the  goodness,  shrewdness,  and  knowl- 
edge of  the  Alderman,  with  his  whole  being  one 
sob  of  love,  pity,  and  protection  for  his  dear  sim- 
ple mourner — so  crystal  clear,  so  sisterlike  and 
sweet ! 


It  was  time  to  go  upon  duty. 

Johnnie  looked  at  his  thick  oval  watch — a 
"  Nuremberg  Egg,"  as  it  was  called  in  those  days 
— cut  short  his  reverie  of  sweet  remembrance,  and 
went  straight  to  the  King  Consort's  wing  of  the 
Palace. 

When  he  was  come  into  the  King's  room  he 
found  him  alone  with  Torrome,  his  valet,  sitting 
in  a  big  leather-covered  arm-chair,  his  ruff  and 
doublet  taken  off,  and  wearing  a  long  dressing- 
gown  of  brown  stuff,  a  friar's  gown  it  almost 
seemed. 

The  melancholy  yellow  face  brightened  some- 
what as  the  Esquire  came  in. 

"  I  am  home  again,  Senor,"  he  said  in  Spanish, 
though  "  en  casa  "  was  the  word  he  used  for  home, 
and  that  had  a  certain  pathos  in  it.  "  There  is  a 
torneo,  a  justa,  after  dinner,  so  they  tell 
me.  I  had  wished  to  ride  myself,  but  I  am  weary 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          175 

from  our  viajero  into  the  country.  I  shall  sit 
with  the  Queen,  and  you,  Senor,  will  attend 
me." 

He  must  have  seen  a  slight,  fleeting  look  of  dis- 
appointment upon  Commendone's  face. 

Himself,  as  the  envoy  Suriano  said  of  him  in 
1548,  "  deficient  in  that  energy  which  becometh 
a  man,  sluggish  in  body  and  timid  in  martial  enter- 
prise," he  nevertheless  affected  an  exaggerated  in- 
terest in  manly  sports.  He  had,  it  is  true,  mingled 
in  some  tournaments  at  Brussels  in  the  past,  and 
Calvera  says  that  he  broke  his  lances,  "  very  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  his  father  and  aunts."  But  in 
England,  at  any  rate,  he  had  done  nothing  of  the 
sort,  and  his  voice  to  Commendone  was  almost 
apologetic. 

"  We  will  break  a  lance  together  some  day,"  he 
said,  "  but  you  must  forego  the  lists  this  after- 
noon." 

Johnnie  bowed  very  low.  This  was  extraordi- 
nary favour.  He  knew,  of  course,  that  the  King 
would  never  tilt  with  him,  but  he  recognised  the 
compliment. 

He  knew,  again,  that  his  star  was  high  in  the 
ascendant.  The  son  of  the  great  Charles  V  was 
reserved,  cautious,  suspicious  of  all  men — except 
when,  in  private,  he  would  unbend  to  buffoons 
and  vulgar  rascals  like  Sir  John  Shelton — and  the 
icy  gravity  of  his  deportment  to  courtiers  seldom 
varied. 

Commendone  was  quite  aware  that  the  King  did 


i76  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

not  class  him  with  men  of  Shelton's  stamp.     He 
was  the  more  signally  honoured  therefore. 

'  This  night,"  His  Grace  continued,  "  after  the 
jousts,  your  attendance  will  be  excused,  Senor.  I 
retire  early  to  rest." 

The  Esquire  bowed,  but  he  had  caught  a  cer- 
tain gleam  in  the  King's  small  eyes.  "  Duck  Lane 
or  Bankside !  "  he  thought  to  himself.  "  Thank 
God  he  hath  not  commanded  me  to  be  with  him." 

Johnnie  was  beginning  to  understand,  more  than 
he  had  hitherto  done,  something  of  his  sudden  rise 
to  favour  and  almost  intimacy.  The  King  Con- 
sort was  trying  him,  testing  him  in  every  way,  hop- 
ing to  find  at  length  a  companion  less  dangerous 
and  drunken,  a  reputation  less  blown  upon,  a  serv- 
ant more  discreet.  .  .  . 

He  could  have  spat  in  his  disgust.  What  he 
had  tolerated  in  others  before,  though  loftily  repu- 
diated for  himself,  now  became  utterly  loathsome — 
in  King  or  commoner,  black  and  most  foul. 

The  King  wore  a  mask;  Johnnie  wore  one  also — 
there  was  finesse  in  the  game  between  master  and 
servant.  And  to-night  the  King  would  wear  a 
literal  mask,  the  "  maschera,"  which  Badovardo 
speaks  of  when  he  set  down  the  frailties  of  this 
monarch  for  after  generations  to  read  of:  "  Nelle 
piaceri  delle  donne  e  incontinente,  predendo  dil- 
letatlone  d 'an dare  in  maschera  la  notte  et  nei  tempi 
de  negotii  gravi" 

Then  and  there  Johnnie  made  a  resolution,  one 
which  had  been  nascent  in  his  mind  for  many  hours. 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM  177 

He  would  have  done  with  the  Court  as  soon  as 
may  be.  Ambition,  so  new  a  child  of  his  brain, 
was  already  dead.  He  would  marry,  retire  from 
pageant  and  splendour  even  as  his  father  had  done 
years  and  years  ago.  With  Elizabeth  by  his  side 
he  would  once  more  live  happily  among  the  woods 
and  wolds  of  Commendone. 

Torrome,  the  criado  or  valet,  came  into  the 
room  again  from  the  bed-chamber.  His  Highness 
was  to  change  his  clothes  once  more — at  high  noon 
he  must  be  with  the  Queen  upon  State  affairs.  The 
Chancellor  and  Lord  Wharton  were  coming,  and 
with  them  Brookes,  the  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  the 
papal  sub-delegate,  and  the  Royal  Proctors,  Mr. 
Martin  and  Mr.  Storey. 

The  prelates,  Ridley  and  Latimer,  were  lying  in 
prison — their  ultimate  fate  was  to  be  discussed  on 
that  morning. 

The  King  had  but  hardly  gone  into  his  bed- 
chamber when  the  door  of  the  Closet  opened  and 
Don  Diego  Deza  entered,  unannounced,  and  with 
the  manner  of  habitude  and  use. 

He  greeted  Commendone  heartily,  shaking  him 
by  the  hand  with  considerable  warmth,  his  clear- 
cut,  inscrutable  face  wearing  an  expression  of  fixed 
kindliness — put  on  for  the  occasion,  meant  to  ap- 
pear sincere,  there  for  a  purpose. 

"  I  will  await  His  Grace  here,"  the  priest  said, 
glancing  at  the  door  leading  to  the  bedroom, 
which  was  closed.  "  I  am  to  attend  him  to  the 
Council  Chamber,  where  there  is  much  business  to 


178  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

be  done.  So  next  week,  Mr.  Commendone,  you'll 
be  at  Whitehall!  The  Court  will  be  gayer  there 
— more  suited  to  you  young  gallants." 

"  For  my  part,"  Johnnie  answered,  "  I  like  the 
Tower  well  enough." 

"  Hast  a  contented  mind,  Sefior,"  the  priest  an- 
swered brightly.  "  But  I  hap  to  know  that  the 
Queen  will  be  glad  to  be  gone  from  the  City.  This 
hath  been  a  necessary  visit,  one  of  ceremony,  but 
Her  Grace  liketh  the  Palace  of  Westminster  better, 
and  her  Castle  of  Windsor  best  of  all.  I  shall 
meet  you  at  Windsor  in  the  new  year,  and  hope  to 
see  you  more  advanced.  Wilt  be  wearing  the  gold 
spurs  then,  I  believe,  and  there  will  be  two  knights 
of  the  honoured  name  of  Commendone!  " 

Johnnie  answered:  "I  think  not,  Father,"  he 
said,  turning  over  his  own  secret  resolve  in  his 
mind  with  an  inward  smile.  "  But  why  at 
Windsor?  Doubtless  we  shall  meet  near  every 
day." 

"  Say  nothing,  Mr.  Commendone,"  the  priest 
answered  in  a  low  voice.  "  There  can  be  no  harm 
in  telling  you — who  are  privy  to  so  much — but  I 
sail  for  Spain  to-morrow  morn,  and  shall  be  some 
months  absent  upon  His  Most  Catholic  Majesty's 
affairs." 

Shortly  after  this,  the  King  came  out  of  his 
room,  three  of  his  Spanish  gentlemen  were  shown 
in,  and  with  Johnnie,  the  Dominican,  and  hig 
escort,  His  Highness  walked  to  the  Council  Cham- 
ber, round  the  tower  of  which  stood  a  company 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          179 

of  the  Queen's  Archers,  showing  that  Her  Grace 
had  already  arrived. 

Then  for  two  hours  Johnnie  kicked  his  heels 
in  the  Ante-room,  watching  this  or  that  great  man 
pass  in  and  out  of  the  Council  Chamber,  chatting 
with  the  members  of  the  Spanish  suite — bored  to 
death. 

At  half-past  one  the  Council  was  over,  and  Their 
Majesties  went  to  dinner,  as  did  also  Johnnie  in 
the  Common  Room. 

At  half-past  three  of  the  clock  the  Esquire  was 
standing  in  the  Royal  box  behind  the  King  and 
Queen,  among  a  group  of  other  courtiers,  and 
looking  down  on  the  great  tilting  yard,  where  he 
longed  himself  to  be. 

The  Royal  Gallery  was  at  one  end  of  the  yard, 
a  great  stage-box,  as  it  were,  into  which  two  carved 
chairs  were  set,  and  which  was  designated,  as  a 
somewhat  fervent  chronicler  records,  "  the  gallery, 
or  place  at  the  end  of  the  tilting  yard  adjoining 
to  Her  Grace's  Palace  of  the  Tower,  whereat  her 
person  should  be  placed.  It  was  called,  and  with 
good  cause,  the  Castle,  or  Fortress  of  Perfect 
Beauty,  forasmuch  as  Her  Highness  should  be 
there  included." 

Johnnie  stood  and  watched  it  all  with  eyes  in 
which  there  was  but  little  animation.  A  few  days 
before  nothing  would  have  gladdened  him  more 
than  such  a  spectacle  as  this.  To-day  it  was  as 
nothing  to  him. 

Down  below  was  a  device  of  painted  canvas, 


1 80  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

imitating  a  rolling-trench,  which  was  supposed  to 
be  the  besieging  works  of  those  who  attempted 
the  "  Fortress  of  Perfect  Beauty." 

"  Upon  the  top  of  it  were  set  two  cannons 
wrought  of  wood,  and  coloured  so  passing  well, 
as,  indeed,  they  seemed  to  be  two  fair  field-pieces 
of  ordnance.  And  by  them  were  placed  two  men 
for  gunners  in  cloth  and  crimson  sarcanet,  with 
baskets  of  earth  for  defence  of  their  bodies 
withal." 

At  the  far  end  of  the  lists  there  came  a  clanking 
and  hammering  of  the  farriers'  and  armourers' 
forges. 

Grooms  in  mandilions — the  loose,  sleeveless 
jacket  of  their  calling — were  running  about  every- 
where, leading  the  chargers  trapped  with  velvet 
and  gold  in  their  harness.  Gentlemen  in  short 
cloaks  and  Venetian  hose  bustled  about  among  the 
knights,  and  here  and  there  from  the  stables,  and 
withdrawing  sheds  outside  the  lists,  great  ar- 
moured figures  came,  the  sun  shining  upon  their 
plates — russet-coloured,  fluted,  damascened  with 
gold  in  a  hundred  points  of  fire. 

Nothing  could  be  more  splendid,  as  the  trumpet- 
ers advanced  into  the  lists,  and  the  fierce  fan- 
faronade snarled  up  to  the  sky.  The  Garter  King- 
at-arms  in  his  tabard,  mounted  on  a  white  horse 
with  gold  housings,  rode  out  into  the  centre  of 
the  yard,  and  behind  him,  though  on  foot,  were 
Blue-mantle  and  Rouge-dragon. 

The  afternoon  air  was   full  of  martial  noise, 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          181 

the  clank  of  metal,  the  brazen  notes  of  horns,  the 
stir  and  murmur  of  a  great  company. 

To  Johnnie  it  seemed  that  he  did  not  know  the 
shadow  from  the  substance.  It  all  passed  before 
him  in  a  series  of  coloured  pictures,  unreal  and  far 
away.  Had  he  been  down  there  among  the  knights 
and  lords,  he  felt  that  he  would  but  have  fought 
with  shadows.  It  was  as  though  a  weird  seizure 
had  taken  hold  on  him,  a  waking  dream  enmeshed 
him  in  its  drowsy  impalpable  net,  so  that  on  a 
sudden,  in  the  midst  of  men  and  day,  while  he 
walked  and  talked  and  stood  as  ever  before,  he  yet 
seemed  to  move  among  a  world  of  ghosts,  to  feel 
himself  the  shadow  of  a  dream.  Once  when  Sir 
Charles  Paston  Cooper,  a  very  clever  rider  at  the 
swinging  ring,  and  also  doughty  in  full  shock  of 
combat,  had  borne  down  his  adversary,  the  Queen 
clapped  her  hands. 

"  Habet !  "  she  cried,  like  any  Roman  empress, 
excited  and  glad,  because  young  Sir  Charles  was 
a  very  strong  adherent  of  the  Crown,  and  known 
to  be  bitterly  opposed  to  the  pretensions  of  the 
Lady  Elizabeth.  "  Habet !  "  the  Queen  cried 
again,  with  a  shriek  of  delight. 

She  looked  at  her  husband,  whose  head  was  a 
little  bent,  whose  sallow  face  was  lost  in  thought. 
She  did  not  venture  to  disturb  his  reverie,  but 
glanced  behind  him  and  above  his  chair  to  where 
John  Commendone  was  standing. 

"  C'est  bien  fait,  n'est-ce  pas,  Monsieur?"  she 
said  in  French. 


182  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  young  man's  face,  also,  was  frozen  into 
immobility.  It  did  not  waken  to  the  Queen's  joy- 
ous exclamation.  The  eyes  were  turned  inwards, 
he  was  hearing  nothing  of  it  all. 

Her  Grace's  face  flushed  a  little.  She  said  no 
more,  but  wondered  exceedingly. 

The  stately  display-at-arms  went  on.  The  sun 
declined  towards  his  western  bower,  and  blue 
shadows  crept  slowly  over  the  sand. 

A  little  chill  wind  arose  suddenly,  and  as  it  did 
so,  Commendone  awoke. 

Everything  flashed  back  to  him.  In  the  instant 
that  it  did  so,  and  the  dreaming  of  his  mind  was 
blown  away,  the  curtain  before  his  subconscious 
intelligence  rolled  up  and  showed  him  the  real 
world.  The  first  thing  he  saw  was  the  head  of 
King  Philip  just  below  him.  The  tall  conical  felt 
hat  moved  suddenly,  leaning  downwards  towards 
a  corner  of  the  arena  just  below  the  Royal  box. 

Johnnie  saw  the  King's  profile,  the  lean,  sallow 
jowl,  the  corner  of  the  curved,  tired,  and  haughty 
lip — the  small  eye  suddenly  lit  up. 

Following  the  King's  glance,  he  saw  below  the 
figure  of  Sir  John  Shelton,  dressed  very  quietly  in 
ordinary  riding  costume,  and  by  the  side  of  the 
knight,  Torrome,  the  valet  of  His  Highness. 

Both  men  nodded,  and  the  King  slightly  inclined 
his  head  in  reply. 

Then  His  Highness  leant  back  in  his  chair,  and 
a  little  hissing  noise,  a  sigh  of  relief  or  pleasure, 
came  from  his  lips. 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          183 

Immediately  he  turned  to  the  Queen,  placed 
one  hand  upon  her  jewelled  glove,  and  began  to 
speak  with  singular  animation  and  brightness. 

The  Queen  changed  in  a  moment.  The  lassi- 
tude and  disappointment  went  from  her  face  in  a 
flash.  She  turned  to  her  husband,  radiant  and 
happy,  and  once  more  her  face  became  beautiful. 

It  was  the  last  time  that  John  Commendone  ever 
saw  the  face  of  Queen  Mary.  In  after  years  he 
preferred  always  to  think  of  her  as  he  saw  her 
then. 

The  tourney  was  over.  Everybody  had  left 
the  tilting  yard  and  its  vicinity,  save  only  the  far- 
riers, the  armour  smiths,  and  grooms. 

In  front  of  the  old  palace  hardly  a  soul  was  to 
be  seen,  except  the  sentinels  and  men  of  the  guard, 
who  paced  up  and  down  the  terraces. 

It  was  eight  o'clock,  and  twilight  was  falling. 
All  the  windows  were  lit,  every  one  was  dressing 
for  supper,  and  now  and  then  little  roulades  of 
flutes,  the  twanging  of  viols  being  tuned,  the  mel- 
low clarionette-like  voice  of  the  piccolo-milanese 
showed  that  the  Royal  band  was  preparing  for  the 
feast. 

Johnnie  was  off  duty;  his  time  was  his  own  now, 
and  he  could  do  as  he  would. 

He  longed  more  than  anything  to  go  to  Chepe 
to  be  with  the  Cressemers  again,  to  see  Elizabeth; 
but,  always  punctilious  upon  points  of  etiquette, 
and  especially  remembering  the  sad  case  and 
dolour  of  his  love,  he  felt  it  would  be  better  not 


1 84  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

to  go.  Nevertheless,  he  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
from  his  case  into  the  Common  Room,  and  wrote 
a  short  letter  of  greeting  to  the  Alderman.  With 
this  he  also  sent  a  posy  of  white  roses,  which  he 
bribed  a  serving-man  to  get  from  the  Privy  Gar- 
den, desiring  that  the  flowers  should  be  given  to 
Mistress  Elizabeth  Taylor. 

This  done,  he  sought  and  found  his  servant. 

"  To-night,  John  Hull,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  not 
need  thee,  and  thou  mayest  go  into  the  City  and  do 
as  thou  wilt.  I  am  going  to  rest  early,  for  I  am 
very  tired.  Come  you  back  before  midnight — you 
can  get  the  servant's  pass  from  the  lieutenant  of  the 
guard  if  you  mention  my  name — and  wake  me  and 
bring  me  some  milk.  But  while  thou  art  away, 
take  this  letter  and  these  flowers  to  the  house  of 
Master  Robert  Cressemer.  Do  not  deliver  them 
at  once  when  thou  goest,  but  at  ten  or  a  little  later, 
and  desire  them  to  be  taken  at  once  to  His 
Worship." 

This  he  said,  knowing  something  of  the  habits 
of  the  great  house  in  Chepeside,  and  thinking  that 
his  posy  would  be  taken  to  Elizabeth  when  she 
was  retiring  to  her  sleep. 

"  Perchance  she  may  think  of  me  all  night,"  said 
cunning  Johnnie  to  himself. 

Hull  took  the  letter  and  the  flowers,  and  de- 
parted. Johnnie  went  to  his  chamber,  disembar- 
rassing himself  of  his  stiff  starched  ruff,  took  off 
his  sword,  and  put  on  the  cassock-coat,  which  was 
the  undress  for  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  Court 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          185 

when    they    met    in    the    Common    Room  for  a 
meal. 

He  designed  to  take  some  food,  and  then  to  go 
straight  to  bed  and  sleep  until  his  servant  should 
wake  him  with  the  milk  he  had  ordered,  and  espe- 
cially with  the  message  of  how  he  had  done  in 
Chepe. 

He  had  just  arrayed  himself  and  was  wearily 
stretching  out  his  arms,  wondering  whether  after 
all  he  should  go  downstairs  to  sup  or  no,  when 
the  door  of  his  bedroom  was  pushed  open  and 
Ambrose  Cholmondely  entered. 

Johnnie  was  glad  to  see  his  friend. 

"  Hola!  "  he  said,  "  I  was  in  need  of  some  one 
with  whom  to  talk.  You  come  in  a  good  moment, 
mon  ami." 

Cholmondely  sat  down  upon  the  bed. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  didst  come  off  well  at  the 
tourney?  " 

Johnnie  shook  his  head.  "  I  didn't  ride,"  he 
said,  "  I  was  in  attendance  upon  His  Grace,  rather 
to  my  disgust,  for  I  had  hoped  for  some  exercise. 
But  you  ?  Where  were  you,  Ambrose  ?  " 

"I?  Well,  Johnnie,  I  was  excused  attendance 
this  afternoon.  I  made  interest  with  Mr.  Champ- 
neys,  and  so  I  got  off." 

''  Venus,  her  service,  I  doubt  me,"  Johnnie  an- 
swered. 

Ambrose  Cholmondely  nodded. 
'  Yes,"  he  said,  "  i'  faith,  a  very  bootless  quest 
it  was.     A  girl  at  an  inn  that  I  lit  upon  some 


1 86  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

time  agone — you  would  not  know  it — 'tis  a  big 
hostel  of  King  Henry's  time  without  Aldgate,  the 
'  Woolsack.'  " 

Johnnie  started.    "  I  went  there  once,"  he  said. 

"  I  should  well  have  thought,"  Cholmondely 
replied,  "  it  would  have  been  out  of  your  purview. 
Never  mind.  My  business  came  not  to  a  satisfac- 
tory end.  The  girl  was  very  coy.  But  I  tell  you 
what  I  did  see,  and  that  hath  given  me  much  reason 
for  thought.  Along  the  road  towards  Essex, 
where  I  was  walking,  hoping  to  meet  my  inamorata, 
came  a  damsel  walking,  by  her  dress  and  bearing 
of  gentle  birth,  and  with  a  serving-maid  by  her 
side.  I  was  not  upon  the  high  road,  but  sat  under 
a  sycamore  tree  in  a  field  hard  by,  but  I  saw  all  that 
passed  very  well.  A  carriage  came  slowly  down 
the  road  towards  this  lady.  Out  of  it  jumped  that 
bully-rook  John  Shelton,  and  close  behind  him  the 
Spanish  valet  Torrome,  that  is  the  King's  private 
servant.  They  caught  hold  of  the  girl,  Shelton 
clapped  a  hand  upon  her  mouth,  and  they  had  her 
in  the  carriage  in  a  moment  and  her  maid  with  her 
— which  immediately  turned  round  and  went  back 
at  a  quick  pace  through  Aldgate.  I  would  have 
interfered,  but  I  could  not  get  to  the  high  road  in 
time;  'twas  so  quickly  done.  Johnnie,  there  will 
be  great  trouble  in  London,  if  Shelton  and  these 
Spaniards  he  is  so  friendly  with  are  to  do  such 
things  in  England.  It  may  go  on  well  enough  for 
a  time,  but  suddenly  the  bees  will  be  roused  from 
their  hive,  and  there  will  be  such  a  to-do  and  tur- 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          187 

moil,  such  a  candle  will  be  lit  as  will  not  easily  be 
put  out." 

Johnnie  shrugged  his  shoulders.  In  his  mood 
of  absolute  disgust  with  his  surroundings,  the  re- 
cital interested  him  very  little.  He  connected  it  at 
once  with  the  appearance  of  Shelton  and  the  valet 
at  the  end  of  the  tourney,  but  it  was  not  his  busi- 
ness. 

'  The  hog  to  his  stye,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  I  am 
going  to  take  some  supper,  and  then  to  bed,  for  I 
am  very  weary." 

Arm  in  arm  with  Ambrose  Cholmondely,  he  de- 
scended the  stairs,  went  into  the  Common  Room, 
and  made  a  simple  meal. 

The  place  was  riotous  with  high  spirits,  the 
talk  was  fast  and  free,  but  he  joined  in  none  of 
it,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  had  returned  to  his 
room,  closed  the  door,  and  thrown  himself  upon 
the  bed. 

Almost  immediately  he  sank  into  a  deep  sleep. 

He  was  dreaming  of  Elizabeth,  and  in  his 
dream  was  interwoven  the  sound  of  great  bells, 
when  the  fantastic  painted  pictures  of  sleep  were 
suddenly  shaken  violently  and  dissolved.  They 
flashed  away,  and  his  voice  rose  in  calling  after 
them  to  stay,  when  he  suddenly  awoke. 

The  bells  were  still  going  on,  deep  golden  notes 
from  the  central  cupola  over  the  Queen's  Gallery, 
beating  out  the  hour  of  eleven.  But  as  they 
changed  from  dream  into  reality — much  louder 
and  imminent — he  felt  himself  shaken  violently. 


1 88  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

A  strong  hand  gripped  his  shoulder,  a  hoarse  voice 
mingled  with  the  bell-music  in  his  ears.  He  awoke. 

His  little  room  was  lit  by  a  lanthorn  standing 
upon  the  mantel  with  the  door  open. 

John  Hull,  a  huge  broad  shadow,  was  bending 
over  him.  He  sat  up  in  bed. 

"  Dame!  "  he  cried,  "  and  what  is  this?  " 

"  Master !  Master !  She  has  been  taken  away ! 
My  little  mistress !  Most  foully  taken  away,  and 
none  know  where  she  may  be !  " 

Johnnie  sprang  from  his  bed,  upright  and  trem- 
bling. 

"  I  took  the  letter  and  the  flowers  as  you  bade 
me.  But  all  was  sorrow  and  turmoil  at  the  house. 
Mistress  Elizabeth  went  out  in  the  afternoon  with 
Alice  her  maid.  She  was  to  take  the  air.  They 
have  not  returned.  Nothing  is  known.  His  Wor- 
ship hath  fifty  men  searching  for  her,  and  hath  had 
for  hours.  But  it  avails  nothing." 

Johnnie  suddenly  became  quite  quiet.  Hull  saw 
his  face  change.  The  smooth,  gracious  contours 
were  gone.  An  inner  face,  sharp,  resolute,  hag- 
gard and  terribly  alive,  sprang  out  and  pushed  the 
other  away. 

"  His  Worship  writ  thee  a  letter,  sir.  Here 
'tis." 

Johnnie  held  out  his  hand.  The  letter  was 
brief,  the  writing  hurried  and  indistinct  with  alarm. 

"  DEAR  LAD, — They  have  taken  our  Lizzie, 
whom  I  know  not.  But  I  fear  the  worst  things. 


A  KING  AND  A  VICTIM          189 

I  cannot  find  her  with  all  my  resource.  An'  if  / 
cannot,  one  must  dread  exceeding.  I  dare  say  no 
more.  But  come  to  me  on  the  instant,  if  canst. 
Thou — being  at  Court — I  take  it,  may  be  able  to 
do  more  than  I,  at  the  moment  and  in  the  article  of 
our  misfortune.  The  weight  I  bring  to  bear  is 
heavy,  but  taketh  time.  Command  me  in  every 
way  as  seemeth  good  to  you.  Order,  and  if  needs 
be  threaten  in  my  name.  All  you  do  or  say  is  as  if 
I  said  it,  and  they  that  deny  it  will  feel  my  hand 
heavy  on  them. 

"  But  come,  dear  lad.  Our  Lady  help  and  shield 
the  little  lamb. 

'  Your  friend, 

"  ROBERT  CRESSEMER, 

"  Alderman." 

Johnnie  thrust  the  letter  into  his  bosom. 

"  John  Hull,  art  ready  to  follow  me  to  the 
death,  as  it  may  be  and  very  like  will?  " 

"  Certes,  master." 

"  Anything  for  her?  Are  you  my  man  to  do  all 
and  everything  I  tell  thee  till  the  end?" 

John  Hull  answered  nothing.  He  ran  out  of 
the  room  and  returned  in  an  instant  with  his  mas- 
ter's boots  and  sword.  He  saw  that  the  holster 
pistols  were  primed.  He  took  one  of  Johnnie's 
daggers  and  thrust  it  into  the  sheath  of  his  knife 
without  asking. 

The  two  men  armed  themselves  to  the  teeth 
without  another  word. 


i9o  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"I'll  be   round   to  the   stables,"   Hull  said   at 
length.     "Two  horses,  master?     I  will  rouse  one 
groom  only  and  say  'tis  State  business." 
'  You  know  then  where  we  must  go?  " 

"  I  know  not  the  place.  But  I  guess  it.  We 
hear  much — we  Court  servants !  "  He  spat  upon 
the  floor.  "  And  I  saw  him  looking  at  her  as  the 
Doctor  rode  to  Hadley." 

"Wilt  risk  it? — death,  torture,  which  is  worse, 
John  Hull?" 

"  Duck  Lane,  master?" 

"  Duck  Lane." 

"  I  thought  so.    I'm  for  the  horses." 

A  clatter  of  descending  footsteps,  a  man  stand- 
ing in  a  little  darkling  room,  his  hand  upon  his 
sword  hilt.  His  teeth  set,  his  brain  working  in  ice. 

Receding  footsteps.  ..."  Faithfullest  serv- 
ant that  ever  man  had !  " 

And  so  to  the  bitter  work  I 


CHAPTER  VII 

HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOw! 

THEY  had  ridden  over  London  Bridge. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  a  wind  was  beginning 
to  rise.  Again,  here  and  there  about  the  bridge, 
soldiers  were  lounging,  but  Commendone  and  his 
servant  passed  over  successfully.  He  was  recog- 
nised from  the  last  time,  three  nights  ago.  As  they 
walked  their  horses  through  the  scattered  houses 
immediately  at  the  southern  end  of  the  bridge, 
Johnnie  spoke  to  Hull. 

"I  have  plans,"  he  said  quietly;  "my  mind  is 
full  of  them.  But  I  can  give  you  no  hint  until 
we  are  there  and  doing.  Be  quick  at  the  uptake, 
follow  me  in  all  I  do,  but  if  necessary  act  thyself, 
and  remember  that  we  are  desperate  men  upon 
an  adventure  as  desperate.  Let  nothing  stand  in 
the  way,  as  I  shall  not." 

For  answer  he  heard  a  low  mutter,  almost  a 
growl,  and  they  rode  on  in  silence. 

Both  were  cool  and  calm,  strung  up  to  the  very 
highest  point,  every  single  faculty  of  mind  and 
body  on  the  alert  and  poised  to  strike. 

One,  the  Spanish  blood  within  him  turning  to 
that  cold  icy  fury  which  would  stick  at  nothing  in 
this  world  to  achieve  his  ends,  the  while  his  trained 

191 


192  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

intelligence  and  high  mental  powers  sat,  as  it  were, 
upon  his  frozen  anger  and  rode  it  as  a  horse;  the 
other,  a  volcano  of  hidden  snarling  fury,  seeing 
red  at  each  step  of  his  way  through  the  dark, 
but  subordinate  and  disciplined  by  the  master 
mind. 

They  came  to  the  entrance  to  Duck  Lane, 
walked  their  horses  quietly  down  it — once  more  it 
was  in  silence — until  under  the  lamp  above  the  big 
red  door  of  the  House  of  Shame,  they  saw  two 
horses  tethered  to  a  ring  in  the  wall,  and  a  man 
in  a  cloak  walking  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
house. 

He  looked  up  sharply  as  they  came  into  the 
circle  of  lamp-light,  and  Johnnie  saw,  with  a  fierce 
throb  of  exultation,  that  it  was  Torrome,  the 
King's  valet. 

"  It  is  you,  Sefior,"  the  man  said  in  a  low  voice 
of  relief. 

Johnnie  nodded  curtly  as  he  dismounted. 
1  Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  equally  low,  putting 
something  furtive  and  sly  into  the  tones,  for  he  was 
a  consummate  actor.  "  Yes,  it  is  I,  Torrome.  I 
must  see  His  Grace  at  once  on  matters  of  high 
importance." 

"  His  Grace  said  nothing,"  the  man  began. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  Johnnie  answered.  "  It  was 
not  thought  that  I  should  have  to  come,  but  as 
events  turn  out  " —he  struck  with  his  hand  upon 
the  door  as  he  spoke — "  I  am  to  see  His  Highness 
at  once." 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     193 

"  I  trust  Her  Grace—  '  the  man  whispered 
in  a  frightened  voice. 

"  Not  a  word,"  Commendone  replied.  "  Take 
our  horses  and  keep  watch  over  them  also.  My 
man  cometh  in  with  me.  Word  will  be  sent  out 
to  you  anon  what  to  do." 

The  man  bowed,  and  gathered  up  the  bridle  of 
the  two  new  horses  on  his  arm;  while  as  he  did 
so,  the  big  red  door  swung  open  a  little,  and  a  thin 
face,  covered  with  a  mask  of  black  velvet,  peered 
out  at  the  newcomers. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  the  valet  said,  in  French. 
"  This  gentleman  is  of  the  suite  of  His  Highness." 

The  peering,  masked  face  scrutinised  Johnnie 
for  a  second,  then  nodded,  and  the  red  lips  below 
twisted  into  a  sinister  smile. 

"  Enter,  sir,"  came  in  a  soft,  cooing  voice.  "  I 
remember  you  three  nights  back.  .  .  . " 

Johnnie  entered,  closely  followed  by  Hull,  and 
the  door  was  closed  behind  him.  They  stood  once 
more  in  the  quiet  carpeted  passage,  with  its  sense 
of  mystery,  its  heavily  perfumed  air,  and  once 
again  the  tall  nondescript  figure  flitted  noiselessly  in 
front  of  them,  and  scratched  upon  a  panel  of  the 
big  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  There  was  the 
tinkle  of  a  bell  within.  The  door  was  opened. 
Johnnie  pushed  aside  the  curtains  and  entered  the 
room,  hung  with  crimson  arras,  powdered  with  the 
design  of  gold  bats,  lit  with  its  hanging  silver 
lamps,  and  reeking  with  the  odour  of  the  scented 
gums  which  were  burning  there. 


i94  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Madame  La  Motte  rose  from  her  chair  behind 
the  little  table  as  they  entered.  The  big,  painted 
face  was  quite  still  and  motionless,  like  a  mask, 
but  the  eyes  glanced  with  quick,  cunning  bright- 
ness at  Commendone  and  his  companion — the  only 
things  alive  in  that  huge  countenance.  She  recog- 
nised Johnnie  in  a  moment,  and  then  her  eyebrows 
went  up  into  her  forehead  and  the  lower  part  of 
her  face  moved  down  a  little,  as  if  the  whole  were 
actuated  by  the  sudden  pull  of  a  lever. 

" Mon  gars,"  she  said,  in  French,  "and  what 
brings  you  here  to-night?  And  who  is 
this?"  .  .  . 

Her  eyes  had  fallen  upon  the  broad  figure  of 
the  serving-man  in  his  leather  coat,  his  short 
sword  hanging  from  his  belt,  his  hand  upon  his 
dagger. 

She  might  well  look  in  alarm,  this  ancient,  evil 
woman,  for  the  keen  brown  face  of  the  servant 
was  gashed  and  lined  with  a  terrible  and  quiet 
fury,  the  lips  curled  away  from  the  teeth,  the  fore 
part  of  the  body  was  bent  forward  a  little  as  if 
to  spring. 

Johnnie  took  two  steps  up  to  the  woman. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  it  was 
hardly  more  than  a  whisper,  but  every  syllable  of 
which  was  perfectly  distinct  and  clear,  "  a  lady 
has  been  stolen  from  her  friends,  and  brought  to 
this  hell.  Where  is  she?  " 

The  woman  knew  in  a  moment  why  they  had 
come.  She  gave  a  sudden  swift  glance  towards 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     195 

the  door  in  the  arras  at  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
which  told  Commendone  all  he  wanted  to  know. 

"  It  is  true,  then  ?  "  he  said.  "  Thou  cat  of  hell, 
bound  mistress  of  the  fiend,  she  is  here?  " 

The  huge  body  of  the  woman  began  to  tremble 
like  a  jelly,  slowly  at  first  in  little  shivers,  and  then 
more  rapidly  until  face  and  shapeless  form  shook 
and  swayed  from  side  to  side  in  a  convulsion  of 
fear,  while  all  the  jewels  upon  her  winked  and 
flashed. 

As  the  young  man  bent  forward  and  looked  into 
her  face,  she  found  a  voice,  a  horrid,  strangled 
voice.  "  I  know  nothing,"  she  coughed. 

There  was  a  low  snarl,  like  a  wakened  panther, 
as  Commendone,  shuddering  as  he  did  so,  gripped 
one  bare,  powdered  shoulder. 

"  Silence  !  "  he  said. 

With  one  convulsive  effort,  the  woman  shot  out 
a  fat  hand,  and  rang  the  little  silver  bell  upon  the 
table. 

Almost  immediately  the  door  swung  open;  there 
was  a  swish  of  curtains,  and  the  tall,  fantastic 
figure  of  the  creature  who  had  let  them  into  the 
house  stood  there. 

"  Allez — la  maison  en  face — viens  toi  vite, — 
Jules,  Louis." 

Commendone  clapped  his  hand  over  the 
woman's  mouth,  just  as  the  eel-like  creature  at 
the  door,  realising  the  situation  in  a  moment,  was 
gliding  through  the  curtains  to  summon  the  bullies 
of  the  house. 


196  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

But  John  Hull  was  too  quick  for  him.  He 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  wrenched  him  back  into  the 
room,  sent  him  spinning  into  the  centre  of  it,  and 
took  two  steps  towards  him,  his  right  fist  half 
raised  to  deal  him  a  great  blow. 

The  creature  mewed  like  a  cat,  ducked  suddenly 
and  ran  at  the  yeoman,  gripping  him  round  the 
waist  with  long,  thin  arms. 

There  was  no  sound  as  they  struggled — this 
long,  eel-like  thing,  in  its  mask  and  crimson  robe 
twining  round  his  sturdy  opponent  like  some  para- 
site writhing  with  evil  life. 

John  Hull  rocked,  striving  to  bend  forward  and 
get  a  grip  of  his  antagonist.  But  it  was  useless. 
He  could  do  nothing,  and  he  was  being  slowly 
forced  backwards  towards  the  door. 

There  was  horror  upon  the  man's  brown  face, 
horror  of  this  silent,  clinging  thing  which  fought 
with  fury,  and  in  a  fashion  that  none  other  had 
fought  with  him  in  all  his  life. 

Then,  as  he  realised  what  was  happening,  he 
stood  up  for  a  moment,  staggering  backwards  as 
he  did  so,  pulled  out  the  dagger  from  his  belt  and 
struck  three  great  blows  downwards  into  the  thin 
scarlet  back,  burying  the  steel  up  to  the  hilt  at 
each  fierce  stroke. 

There  was  a  sudden  "  Oh,"  quite  quiet  and  a 
little  surprised,  the  sort  of  sound  a  man  might 
make  when  he  sees  a  friend  come  unexpectedly 
into  his  room.  .  .  . 

That  was  all.     It  was  over  in  some  thirty  sec- 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     197 

onds,  there  was  a  convulsive  wriggle  on  the  floor, 
and  the  man,  if  indeed  it  was  a  man,  lay  on  its  back 
stiff  in  death.  The  mask  of  black  velvet  had  been 
torn  off  in  the  struggle,  and  they  saw  a  tiny  white 
face,  painted  and  hairless,  set  on  the  end  of  a  mus- 
cular and  stringy  neck — a  monster  lying  there  in 
soulless  death. 

"Have  you  killed  it?"  Commendone  asked, 
suddenly. 

"  Yes,  master."  Hull's  head  was  averted  from 
what  lay  upon  the  carpet,  even  while  he  was  push- 
ing it  towards  the  heap  of  cushions  at  the  side 
of  the  room.  Leaning  over  the  body,  he  took  a 
cushion  from  the  heap — a  gaudy  thing  of  green 
and  orange — and  wiped  his  boot. 

"  Listen !  "  Johnnie  said,  still  with  his  hand 
covering  the  woman's  face. 

They  listened  intently.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be 
heard. 

"  As  I  take  it,"  Commendone  answered,  "  there 
are  no  men  in  the  house  except  only  those  two 
we  have  come  to  seek.  The  alarm  hath  not  been 
given,  and  that  eunuque  is  dead.  We  must  settle 
Madame  here."  He  laughed  a  grim,  menacing 
laugh  as  he  spoke. 

Immediately  the  figure  in  his  hands  began  to 
writhe  and  tremble,  the  feet  beat  a  dull  tattoo  upon 
the  carpet,  the  eyes  protruded  from  their  layers 
of  paint,  a  snorting,  snuffling  noise  came  from  be- 
neath Commendone's  hand.  He  caught  it  away 
instantly,  shuddering  with  disgust. 


198  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  Kill  me  not!  kill  me  not!  "  the  old  woman 
gasped.  "  They  are  upstairs,  the  King  and  his 
friend.  The  girl  is  there.  I  know  nothing  of  her, 
she  was  brought  to  me  in  the  dark  by  the  King's 
servants.  Kill  me  not;  I  will  stay  silent."  Her 
voice  failed.  She  fell  suddenly  back  in  her  chair, 
and  looked  at  them  with  indescribable  horror  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I'll  see  to  her,  master,"  Hull  said  in  a  quiet 
voice,  his  face  still  distorted  with  mastiff-like  fury. 

He  caught  up  his  blood-stained  dagger  from 
the  floor,  stepped  to  the  stiffened  corpse,  curved 
by  tetanus  into  a  bow,  and  ripped  up  a  long  piece 
of  the  gown  which  covered  it.  Quickly  and  silently 
he  tied  the  old  woman's  ankles  together,  her  hands 
behind  her  back — the  podgy  wrists  would  not  meet, 
nor  near  it — and  again  he  went  to  the  corpse  for 
further  bonds. 

"  And  now  to  stop  her  mouth,"  he  said,  "  or 
she  will  be  calling." 

Commendone  took  out  his  handkerchief. 
"  Here,"  he  said.  In  an  instant  Hull  had  rolled 
it  into  a  ball,  pressed  it  between  the  painted  lips, 
and  tied  it  in  its  place  with  the  last  strip  of  velvet. 

All  this  had  taken  but  hardly  a  minute.  Then 
he  stood  up  and  looked  at  his  master.  "  The  time 
comes,"  he  said. 

Johnnie  nodded,  and  walked  slowly,  with  quiet 
footsteps,  towards  the  door  in  the  arras  at  the  other 
side  of  the  room. 

He  felt  warily  for  the  handle,  found  it,  turned 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     199 

it  gently,  and  saw  a  narrow  stairway  stretching 
upwards,  and  lit  by  a  lamp  somewhere  above. 
The  stair  was  uncarpeted,  but  it  was  of  old  and 
massive  oak,  and,  drawing  his  sword,  he  crept 
cautiously  up,  Hull  following  him  like  a  cat. 

They  found  themselves  in  a  corridor  with 
doors  on  each  side,  each  door  painted  with  a  big 
white  number.  It  was  lit,  warm,  and  very  still. 

Johnnie  put  his  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  both  men 
listened  intently. 

The  silence  was  absolute.  They  might  have 
been  in  an  empty  house.  No  single  indication  of 
human  movement  came  to  them  as  they  stood 
there. 

For  nearly  a  minute  they  remained  motionless. 
Their  eyes  were  fixed  and  horror-struck,  their  ears 
strained  to  an  intensity  of  listening. 

Then,  at  last,  they  heard  a  sound,  quite  unex- 
pectedly and  very  near. 

It  came  from  the  door  immediately  upon  their 
right,  which  was  painted  with  the  number  "3," 
and  was  simply  the  click  of  a  sword  in  its  scabbard. 
Johnnie  took  two  noiseless  steps  to  the  door,  set- 
tled his  sword  in  his  hand,  flung  it  open,  and 
leapt  in. 

He  was  in  a  large  low  room  panelled  round  its 
sides,  the  panels  painted  white,  the  headings  picked 
out  in  crimson.  A  carpet  covered  the  floor,  a  low 
fire  burnt  upon  a  wide  open  hearth.  There  were 
two  or  three  padded  sofa  lounges  here  and  there, 
and  in  front  of  the  fire-place  in  riding  clothes, 


200  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

though  without  his  hat  or  gloves,  stood  Sir  John 
Shelton. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  several  seconds, 
only  broken  by  the  click  of  the  outer  door,  as  Hull 
pushed  it  into  its  place,  and  shot  the  bolt. 

Shelton  grew  very  white,  but  said  nothing. 

With  his  sword  ready  to  assume  the  guard, 
Johnnie  walked  to  the  centre  of  the  room. 

The  bully's  face  grew  whiter  still.  Little  drops 
of  moisture  glistened  on  his  forehead,  and  on  his 
blonde  moustache. 

Then  he  spoke. 

"Ah I  Mr.  Commendone!"  he  said,  with  a 
horrid  little  laugh.  "  News  from  Court,  I  sup- 
pose? Is  it  urgent?  His  Grace  is  engaged  within, 
but  I  will  acquaint  him.  His  Grace  is  en- 
gaged  "  There  came  a  titter  of  discovery  and 

fear  from  his  lips.  His  words  died  away  into 
silence. 

Johnnie  advanced  towards  him,  his  sword 
pointed  at  his  heart. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Mr.  Commendone?  " 

"  Death." 

The  man's  sword  was  out  in  a  moment.  The 
touch  of  it  seemed  to  bring  the  life  back  to  him, 
and  with  never  a  word,  he  sprang  at  Commen- 
done. He  was  a  brave  man  enough,  a  clever 
fencer  too,  but  he  knew  now  that  his  hour  had 
come.  He  read  it  in  the  fixed  face  before  him, 
that  face  of  frozen  fury.  He  knew  it  directly  the 
blades  touched.  Indeed  he  was  no  match  for 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     201 

Commendone,  with  his  long  training,  and  clean, 
abstemious  life.  But  even  had  he  been  an  in- 
finitely superior  swordsman,  he  knew  that  he  would 
have  had  no  chance  in  that  moment.  There  was 
something  behind  the  young  man's  arm  which  no 
Sir  John  Shelton  could  resist. 

The  blades  rattled  together  and  struck  sparks 
in  the  lamp-light.  Click!  Clatter!  Click! — 
"  Ah !  "  the  long-drawn  breath,  a  breath  surging 
up  from  the  very  entrails — Click!  Clatter! 
Click! 

The  fierce  cold  fury  of  that  fight  was  far  be- 
yond anything  in  war,  or  the  ordinary  duello.  It 
was  a  entrance,  there  was  only  one  end  to  it,  and 
that  came  very  swiftly. 

Commendone  was  not  fighting  for  safety.  He 
cared  not,  and  knew  nothing,  of  what  the  other 
might  have  in  reserve.  He  did  not  even  wait  to 
test  his  adversary's  tricks  of  fence,  as  was  only 
cautious  and  usual.  Nothing  could  have  with- 
stood him,  and  in  less  than  two  minutes  from  the 
time  the  men  had  engaged,  the  end  came.  Com- 
mendone made  a  half-lunge,  which  was  parried  by 
the  dagger  in  Sir  John's  left  hand,  and  then,  quick 
as  lightning,  his  sword  was  through  Shelton's 
throat,  through  and  through. 

The  Captain  fell  like  a  log,  hiccoughed,  and  lay 
still. 

"  Two,"  said  John  Hull. 

Johnnie  withdrew  his  sword,  holding  it  down- 
wards, watching  it  drip;  then  he  turned  to  his 


202  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

servant.  "  Sir  John  was  here  on  guard,"  he  said; 
"  this  is  the  ante-room  to  where  She  is.  But  I  see 
no  door,  save  only  the  one  by  which  we  entered." 

"  Hist !  "  Hull  replied,  almost  before  his  master 
had  finished  speaking. 

He  pointed  to  the  opposite  wall,  and  both  men 
saw  a  long,  narrow  bar  of  orange  light,  a  mo- 
mentarily widening  slit,  opening  in  a  panel. 

The  panel  swung  back  entirely,  forming  a  sort 
of  hatch  or  window,  and  through  it,  yellow,  livid, 
and  terror-struck,  looked  the  face  of  the  King. 

Without  a  word  John  Hull  rushed  towards  that 
part  of  the  wall.  When  he  was  within  a  yard  of 
it  he  gathered  himself  up  and  leapt  against  it,  like 
a  battering-ram.  There  was  a  crash,  as  the  con- 
cealed door  was  torn  away  from  its  hinges.  Hull 
lay  measuring  his  length  upon  the  floor,  and  John- 
nie leaped  over  the  prostrate  form  into  the  room 
beyond. 

This  is  what  he  saw : 

In  one  corner  of  the  room,  close  to  a  large  couch 
covered  with  rich  silks,  Elizabeth  Taylor  stood 
against  the  wall.  They  had  dressed  her  in  a  long 
white  robe  of  the  Grecian  sort,  with  a  purple 
border  round  the  hem  of  the  skirt,  the  short  sleeves 
and  the  low  neck.  Her  face  was  a  white  wedge  of 
terror,  her  arms  were  upraised,  the  palms  of  her 
hands  turned  outwards,  as  if  to  ward  off  some 
horror  unspeakable. 

King  Philip,  at  the  other  corner  of  the  room, 
standing  by  the  debris  of  the  broken  door,  was 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     203 

perfectly  motionless,  save  only  for  his  head,  which 
was  pushed  forward  and  moved  from  side  to  side 
with  a  slow  reptilian  movement. 

He  was  dressed  entirely  in  black,  his  clothes  in 
disarray,  and  the  thin  hair  upon  his  head  was 
matted  in  fantastic  elf-locks  with  sweat. 

He  saw  the  set  face  of  Commendone,  his  drawn 
and  bloody  sword.  He  saw  the  thick  leathern- 
coated  figure  of  the  yeoman  rise  from  the  floor. 
Both  were  confronting  him,  and  he  knew  in  a  flash 
that  he  was  trapped. 

Johnnie  looked  at  his  master  for  a  moment, 
and  then  turned  swiftly.  "  Elizabeth,"  he  said, 
"Elizabeth!" 

At  his  voice  the  girl's  hands  fell  from  her  face. 
She  looked  at  him  for  a  second  in  wild  amaze- 
ment, and  then  she  cried  out,  in  a  high,  quavering 
voice  of  welcome,  "  Johnnie !  Johnnie !  you've 
come !  " 

He  put  his  arms  about  her,  soothing,  stroking 
her  hair,  speaking  in  a  low,  caressing  voice,  as  a 
man  might  speak  to  a  child.  And  all  the  time  his 
heart,  which  had  been  frozen  into  deadly  purpose, 
was  leaping,  bounding,  and  drumming  within  him 
so  furiously,  so  strongly,  that  it  seemed  as  if  his 
body  could  hardly  contain  it.  This  mortal  frame 
must  surely  be  dissolved  and  swept  away  by  such 
a  tumult  of  feeling. 

She  had  only  seen  him  once.  She  had  never 
received  his  little  posy  of  white  flowers,  but  he 
was  "  Johnnie  "  to  her. 


204  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  They  have  not  hurt  you,  my  maid?  "  he  said. 
"  Tell  me  they  have  not  harmed  you." 

She  shook  her  head.  Happiness  sponged  away 
the  horror  which  had  been  upon  her  face.  "  No, 
Johnnie,"  she  answered,  clinging,  her  fingers 
clutching  for  a  firmer  hold  of  him.  "  No,  John- 
nie, only  they  took  me  away,  and  Alice,  that  is  my 
maid.  They  took  me  away  violently,  and  I  have 
been  penned  up  here  in  this  place  until  that  man 
came  and  said  strange  things  to  me,  and  would 
embrace  me." 

"  Sit  you  here,  my  darling  maid,"  the  young 
man  said,  "  sit  you  here,"  guiding  her  to  the  couch 
hard  by.  "  He  shall  do  you  no  harm.  Thou  art 
with  me,  and  thy  good  friend  there,  thy  father's 
yeoman." 

She  had  not  seen  John  Hull  before,  but  now  she 
looked  up  at  him  over  Johnnie's  arm,  and  smiled. 
"  'Tis  all  well  now,"  she  murmured,  drooping  and 
half-faint.  "  Hull  is  here,  and  thou  also,  Johnnie." 

Even  in  the  wild  joy  of  finding  her,  and  know- 
ing instinctively  that  she  was  to  be  his,  that  she 
had  thought  of  him  so  much,  Commendone  lost 
nothing  of  his  sang-froid. 

He  knew  that  desperate  as  had  been  his  adven- 
ture when  he  started  out  from  the  Tower,  it  was 
now  more  desperate  still.  He  and  Hull  had  taken 
their  lives  in  their  hands  when  they  went  to  Duck 
Lane.  Their  enterprise  had  so  far  been  success- 
ful, their  rescue  complete,  but — and  he  was  in  no 
way  mistaken — the  enterprise  was  not  over,  and  his 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     205 

life  was  worth  even  a  smaller  price  than  it  had 
been  before. 

With  that,  he  turned  from  the  girl,  and  strode 
up  to  the  King,  before  whom  John  Hull  had  been 
standing,  grimly  silent. 

Commendone's  sword  was  still  in  his  hand;  he 
had  not  relinquished  it  even  when  he  had  em- 
braced Elizabeth,  and  now  he  stood  before  his 
master,  the  point  upon  the  floor,  his  young  face 
set  into  judgment. 

"  And  now,  Sire?  "  he  said,  shortly  and  quickly. 

Philip's  face  was  flushed  with  shame  and  fear, 
but  at  these  sharp  words,  he  drew  himself  to  his 
full  height. 

"  Senor,"  he  said,  "  you  are  going  to  do  some- 
thing which  will  damn  you  for  ever  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  Our  Lady.  You  are  going  to  slay 
the  anointed  of  the  Lord.  I  will  meet  death  at 
your  hands,  and  doubtless  for  my  sins  I  have 
deserved  death;  but,  nevertheless,  you  will  be 
damned." 

Then  he  threw  his  arms  out  wide,  and  there 
came  a  sob  into  his  voice  as  the  liquid  Spanish 
poured  from  him. 

"  But  to  die  thus !  "  he  said.  "  Mother  of  God ! 
to  die  thus !  unshrived,  with  my  sins  upon  me !  " 

Johnnie  tapped  impatiently  with  the  point  of  his 
sword  upon  the  floor. 

"  Kill  you,  Sire?  "  he  said.  "  I  have  sworn  the 
oath  of  allegiance  to  Her  Grace,  the  Queen,  and 
eke  to  you.  I  break  no  oaths.  Kill  you  I  will  not. 


206  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Kill  you  I  cannot.  I  dare  not  raise  my  hand  against 
the  King." 

He  dropped  on  one  knee.  "  Sire,"  he  said 
again,  "  I  am  your  Gentleman,  and  you  will  go 
free  from  this  vile  house  as  you  came  into  it." 

Then  he  rose,  took  his  sword,  snapped  it  across 
his  knee — staining  his  hands  in  doing  so — and  flung 
it  into  the  corner  of  the  room. 

"  And  that  is  that,"  he  said,  with  a  different 
manner.  "  So  now  as  man  to  man,  as  from  one 
gentleman  to  another,  hear  my  voice.  You  are  a 
gentleman  of  high  degree,  and  you  are  King  also 
of  half  this  globe,  named,  and  glad  to  be  named 
His  Most  Catholic  Majesty.  Of  your  kingship 
I  am  not  at  this  moment  aware.  I  am  not  Royal. 
But  as  a  gentleman  and  a  Christian,  I  tell  you  to 
your  face  that  you  are  low  and  vile.  You  deceive 
a  wife  that  loveth  you.  You  take  maidens  to  force 
them  to  your  will.  If  you  were  a  simple  gentleman 
I  would  kill  you  where  you  stood.  No!  If  thou 
wert  a  simple  gentleman,  I  would  not  cross  swords 
with  thee,  because  thou  art  unworthy  of  my  sword. 
I  would  tell  my  man  here  to  slit  thee  and  have 
done.  But  as  thou  art  a  King  '  —he  spat  upon 
the  floor  in  his  disgust — "  and  I  am  sworn  to  thee, 
I  cannot  punish  thee  as  I  would,  thou  son  of  hell, 
thou  very  scurvy,  lying,  and  most  dirty  knave." 

The  King's  face  was  a  dead  white  now.  He 
lifted  his  hands  and  beat  with  them  upon  his 
breast.  "  Mea  culpa!  Mea  ctdpa!  What  have 
I  done  that  I  should  endure  this?  " 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     207 

"  What  no  King  should  ever  do,  what  no  gentle- 
man could  ever  do." 

The  King's  hands  dropped  to  his  side. 

"  I  am  wearing  no  sword,"  he  said  quietly,  tl  as 
you  see,  Senor,  but  doubtless  you  will  provide  me 
with  one.  If  you  will  meet  me  here  and  now,  as  a 
simple  gentleman,  then  I  give  you  licence  to  kill 
me.  I  will  defend  myself  as  best  I  am  able." 

Johnnie  hesitated,  irresolutely.  All  the  training 
of  his  life  was  up  in  arms  with  the  wishes  and 
the  emotions  of  the  moment — until  he  heard  the 
voice  of  common  sense. 

John  Hull  broke  in.  The  man  had  not  under- 
stood one  word  of  the  Spanish,  but  he  had  realised 
its  meaning,  and  the  keen,  untutored  intelligence, 
focused  upon  the  flying  minutes,  saw  very  clearly 
into  the  future. 

"  Master,"  he  said,  "  cannot  ye  see  that  all  this 
is  but  chivalry  and  etiquette  of  courts?  Cannot 
ye  see  that  if  ye  kill  His  Highness,  England  will 
not  be  big  enough  to  hide  thee?  Cannot  ye  see, 
also,  that  if  thou  dost  not  kill  him,  but  let  him  go, 
England  will  not  be  big  enough  to  hide  thee  either? 
Master,  we  must  settle  this  business  with  speed, 
and  get  far  away  before  the  hue  and  cry,  for  I  tell 
thee,  that  this  bloody  night's  work  will  bring  thee, 
and  Mistress  Elizabeth,  and  myself  to  the  rack 
and  worse  torture,  to  the  stake,  and  worse  than 
that.  Haste !  speed !  we  must  be  gone.  There  is 
but  one  thing  to  be  done." 

"  And  what  is  that,  John  Hull?  " 


208  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"Why,  thou  art  lost  in  a  dream,  master!  To 
tie  up  His  Highness  so  that  he  cannot  move  or 
speak  for  several  hours.  To  send  that  Spaniard 
which  is  his  man,  away  from  the  door  outside,  and 
then  to  fly  from  this  accursed  house,  you,  I,  and 
the  little  mistress,  and  hide  ourselves,  if  God  will 
let  us,  from  the  wrath  to  come." 

The  quick,  decisive  words  were  so  absolutely 
true,  so  utterly  unanswerable,  that  Johnnie  nodded, 
though  he  shuddered  as  he  did  so. 

Upon  that,  John  Hull  strode  up  to  the  King. 

"  Put  your  hands  behind  you,   Sire,"   he  said. 

;The  King  was  wearing  a  dagger  in  his  belt.  As 
Hull  came  up  to  him,  his  face  was  transfixed  with 
fury.  He  drew  it  out  and  lunged  at  the  man's 
heart. 

Hull  was  standing  a  little  obliquely  to  the  blow, 
the  dagger  glanced  upon  his  leather  surcoat,  cut  a 
long  groove,  and  glanced  harmlessly  away. 

With  that,  Hull  raised  his  great  brown  fist  and 
smote  King  Philip  in  the  face,  driving  him  to  the 
floor.  He  was  on  him  in  a  moment,  crouching 
over  him  with  one  hand  upon  the  Royal  throat. 

"Quick,  master;  quick,  master!  Quick,  mas- 
ter! Bonds!  Bonds!  We  must  e'en  truss  him 
up,  as  we  did  her  ladyship  below." 

It  was  done.  The  King  was  tied  and  bound. 
It  was  done  as  gently  as  possible,  and  they  did  not 
gag  him. 

Together  they  laid  him  upon  the  floor. 

Slow,  half-strangled,  and  venomous  words  came, 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     209 

came  in  gouts  of  poisonous  sound,  which  made  the 
sweet  Spanish  hideous.  .  .  . 

"  The  whole  world,  Mr.  Commendone,  will  not 
be  wide  enough  to  hide  you,  your  paramour,  and 
this  villain  from  my  vengeance." 

Johnnie  would  have  heard  anything  but  that  one 
word — that  shameful  wor-d.  At  the  word  "  para- 
mour," hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  he  lifted 
his  hand  and  struck  the  bound  and  helpless  King 
upon  the  face. 

A  timepiece  from  the  next  room  beat.  It  was 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Johnnie  turned  to  Elizabeth.  "  Come,  sweet- 
heart," he  said,  in  a  hurried,  agitated  voice,  "  come 
away  from  this  place." 

He  took  her  by  the  arm,  half  leading,  half  sup- 
porting her,  and  together  they  passed  out  of  the 
room,  without  so  much  as  a  backward  glance  at  the 
bound  figure  upon  the  floor.  As  they  went  through 
the  broken  doorway  in  the  ante-room,  John  Hull 
pressed  after  them,  and  walked  on  the  other  side 
of  Elizabeth,  talking  to  her  quickly  in  a  cheery 
voice. 

As  he  looked  over  the  girl's  head  at  his  servant, 
Johnnie  knew  what  Hull  was  doing.  He  was  hid- 
ing the  corpse  of  Sir  John  Shelton  from  the  girl's 
view. 

They  came  into  the  corridor,  and  descended 
the  stairs.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  open  the 
door  in  the  arras,  Hull  stopped  them  upon  the 
lowest  step. 


210  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  I  will  go  first,  master,"  he  said,  and  again 
Johnnie  realised  what  was  meant. 

When  a  few  seconds  afterwards,  he  and  Eliza- 
beth entered  the  tapestry-hung  room;  the  great 
pile  of  cushions  upon  the  left-hand  side  was  a 
little  higher,  but  that  was  all. 

The  girl  raised  her  hands  to  her  throat.  "  Oh," 
she  said,  "  Johnnie,  thank  God  you  came !  I  can- 
not bear  it.  Take  me  home,  take  me  home  now, 
to  Mr.  Cressemer  and  Aunt  Catherine." 

Johnnie  took  her  hands  in  his  own,  holding  her 
very  firmly  by  the  wrists,  and  looked  full  into  her 
face. 

"  Dear,"  he  said,  "  you  cannot  go  to  Mr.  Cres- 
semer's.  You  know  nothing  of  what  has  happened 
this  night.  You  do  not  realise  anything  at  all. 
Will  you  trust  in  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  faltered,  though  her  eyes  were 
firm. 

"  Then,  if  you  do  that,  and  if  God  helps  us," 
he  said,  with  a  gasp  in  his  throat,  "  we  may  yet 
win  to  safety  and  life,  though  I  doubt  it.  Sweet- 
heart, it  is  right  that  I  should  tell  you  that  man 
upstairs  in  the  room  is  the  King  Consort,  husband 
of  Her  Grace  the  Queen." 

The  girl  gave  a  loud,  startled  cry,  and  instantly 
Commendone  saw  comprehension  flash  into  her 
face. 

"  Sit  here,"  he  said  to  her,  putting  a  chair  for 
her. 

Then  he  turned.     Behind  the  ebony  table,  mo- 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     211 

tionless,  vast,  and  purple  in  the  face,  was  the  great 
mummy  of  the  procuress. 

"  What  shall  we  do?  "  he  said  to  Hull. 
'  The  first  thing,  master,  is  to  send  the  Spanish 
valet   away;  that  you  must  do,   and  therein  lies 
our  chance." 

Johnnie  nodded.  He  passed  out  into  the  pas- 
sage, went  to  the  front  door,  pulled  aside  three 
huge  bolts  which  worked  with  a  lever  very  silently, 
for  they  were  all  oiled,  and  let  in  a  puff  of  fresh 
wind  from  the  street. 

For  a  moment  he  could  see  nothing  in  the  dark. 
He  called  in  Spanish :  "  Torrome,  Torrome,  where 
are  you?  Come  here  at  once."  He  had  hardly 
done  so  when  the  cloaked  figure  of  the  valet  came 
out  from  behind  a  buttress. 

"  Ah,  Serior,"  he  said,  "  I  am  perished  with  this 
cold  wind.  His  Highness  is  ready,  then?  " 

Johnnie  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  answered, 
"  His  Highness  and  Sir  John  are  still  engaged, 
but  I  am  sent  to  tell  you  that  you  may  go  home. 
I  and  my  man  will  attend  His  Highness  to  the 
.Tower,  but  we  shall  not  come  until  dawn.  Go 
you  back  to  the  King's  lodging,  and  if  His 
Highness  doth  not  come  in  due  time,  keep  all 
inquiries  at  bay.  He  will  be  sick — you  under- 
stand?" 

Torrome  nodded. 

"  Then  get  you  to  horse,  leave  His  Highness's 
horse  with  ours,  and  speed  back  to  the  Tower  as 
soon  as  may  be." 


212  HOUSE  OF  TOPxMENT 

Commendone  waited  until  the  man  had 
mounted,  very  glad  to  be  relieved  of  his  long  wait- 
ing, and  was  trotting  towards  London  Bridge. 
Then  he  closed  the  door,  pulled  the  lever,  and 
went  back  into  the  red,  scented  room. 

He  saw  that  Hull  had  cut  the  strips  of  red 
velvet  that  bound  Madame  La  Motte,  the  gag 
was  taken  from  her  mouth,  and  he  was  holding  a 
goblet  of  wine  to  the  thick,  swollen,  and  bleeding 
lips. 

There  was  a  long  deep  sigh  and  gurgle.  The 
woman  shuddered,  gasped  again,  and  then  some 
light  and  understanding  came  into  her  eyes,  and 
she  stared  out  in  front  of  her. 

"  What  are  we  to  do?  "  Johnnie  asked  his  serv- 
ant once  more. 

'What  have  ye  done,  masters?"  came  in  a 
dry  whisper  from  the  old  woman — it  was  like  the 
noise  a  man  makes  walking  through  parched  grass 
in  summer.  ''  What  have  ye  done,  masters?  " 

Hull  answered:  "We  have  killed  your  servitor, 
as  ye  saw,"  he  said,  with  a  half  glance  towards 
the  piled  cushions  against  the  wall.  "  Sir  John 
Shelton  is  dead  also;  Mr.  Commendone  killed  him 
in  fair  fight." 

"And  the  King,  the  King?" — the  whisper  was 
dreadful  in  its  anxiety  and  fear. 

"  He  lieth  bound  in  that  room  of  shame  where 
you  took  my  lady." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  the  old 
woman  glanced  backwards  and  forwards  at  Hull 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     213 

and  Commendone.     What  she  read  in  their  faces 
terrified  her,  and  again  she  shook  horribly. 

"  Sir,"  she  said  to  Commendone,  "  if  this  be 
my  last  hour,  then  so  mote  it  be,  but  I  swear  that 
I  knew  nothing.  I  was  told  at  high  noon  yester- 
day that  a  girl  was  to  be  sent  here,  that  Sir  John 
and  the  valet  of  His  Highness  would  bring  her. 
I  knew,  and  know  nothing  of  who  she  is.  I  did 
but  do  as  I  have  always  done  in  my  trade.  And, 
messieurs,  it  was  the  King's  command.  Now  ye 
have  come,  and  there  is  the  lady  unharmed,  please 
God." 

"  Please  God!  "  Johnnie  said  brutally.  '  You 
hag  of  hell,  who  are  you  to  use  that  name?  " 

The  fat,  artificially  whitened  hands,  with  their 
glittering  rings  fell  upon  the  table  with  a  dull 
thud. 

"Who  am  I,  indeed?"  she  said.  "You  may 
well  ask  that,  but  I  tell  you  others  of  my  women 
received  this  lady.  I  have  not  seen  her  until  now." 

"  Indeed  she  hath  not,"  came  in  a  low,  startled 
voice  from  Elizabeth. 

"  Sir,"  La  Motte  went  on,  "  I  see  now  that 
this  is  the  end  of  my  sinful  life.  Kill  me  an  ye 
wish,  I  care  not,  for  I  am  dead  already,  and  so 
also  are  you,  and  the  young  mistress  there,  and 
your  man  too." 

'What  mean  you?"  Johnnie  said. 

'  What  mean  I?  Why,  upstairs  lieth  the  King, 
bound.  We  all  have  two  or  three  miserable  hours, 
and  then  we  shall  be  found,  and  what  we  shall 


214  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

endure  will  pass  the  bitterness  of  death  before 
death  comes.  That,  messieurs,  you  know  very 
well. 

"  So  what  matters  it,"  she  continued,  her  ex- 
traordinary vitality  overcoming  everything,  her 
voice  growing  stronger  each  moment,  "  what  mat- 
ters it!  Let  us  drink  wine  one  to  the  other,  to 
death !  in  this  house  of  death,  in  this  house  to 
which  worse  than  death  cometh  apace." 

She  reached  out  for  the  flagon  of  wine  before 
her  with  a  cackle  of  laughter. 

It  was  too  true.  Commendone  knew  it  well. 
He  looked  at  Hull,  and  together  they  both  looked 
at  Elizabeth  Taylor. 

The  girl,  in  the  long  white  robe  which  they  had 
put  on  her,  rose  from  her  seat  and  came  between 
them,  tall,  slim,  and  now  composed.  She  put  one 
hand  upon  Johnnie's  shoulder  and  laid  the  other 
with  an  affectionate  gesture  upon  Hull's  arm. 

"  Look  you,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Commendone,  and 
you,  John  Hull,  my  father's  friend,  what  matters 
it  at  all?  I  see  now  all  that  hath  passed.  There 
is  no  hope  for  us,  none  at  all.  Therefore  let  us 
praise  God,  pray  to  Him,  and  die.  We  shall  soon 
be  with  my  father  in  heaven;  and,  sure,  he  seeth 
all  this,  and  is  waiting  for  us." 

John  Hull's  face  was  knitted  into  thought.  He 
hardly  seemed  to  hear  the  girl's  voice  at  all. 

"  Mistress  Lizzie,"  he  said,  almost  peevishly, 
"  pr'ythee  be  silent  a  moment.  Master,  look  you. 
'Tis  this  way.  They  will  come  again  and  find  His 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     215 

Highness  when  he  returneth  not  to  the  Tower, 
but  he  will  dare  do  nothing  against  us  openly  for 
fear  of  the  Queen's  Grace.  Were  it  known  that  he 
had  come  to  such  a  stew  as  this,  the  Queen  would 
ne'er  give  him  her  confidence  again.  She  would 
ne'er  forgive  him.  Doubtless  the  vengeance  will 
pursue  us,  but  it  cannot  be  put  in  motion  for  some 
hours  until  the  King  is  rescued,  and  has  had  time 
to  confer  with  his  familiars  and  think  out  a  plan. 
After  that,  when  they  catch  us,  nothing  will  avail 
us,  because  nothing  we  can  say  will  be  believed. 
But  we  are  not  caught  yet." 

Johnnie,  who  for  the  last  few  moments  had  been 
quite  without  hope,  looked  up  quickly  at  his  serv- 
ant's words. 

'You  are  right,"  he  said,  "in  what  you  say; 
there  speaketh  good  sense.  Very  well,  then  we 
must  get  away  at  once.  But  where  shall  we  go? 
If  we  go  to  His  Worship's  house,  we  shall  soon  be 
discovered,  and  bring  His  Worship  and  Mistress 
Catherine  with  us  to  the  rack  and  stake.  If  we 
go  to  my  father's  house  in  Kent,  he  will  not  be 
able  to  hide  us;  it  will  be  the  first  place  to  which 
they  will  look." 

He  spread  his  arms  out  in  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  we  in  this  room  to-night 
have  no  refuge  nor  harbour.  For  a  few  hours, 
a  day  it  may  be,  we  can  lie  lost  from  vengeance. 
But  after  that  no  earthly  power  can  save  us.  We 
have  done  the  thing  for  which  there  is  no  pardon." 

"  I  don't  like,  master,  to  wait  for  death  in  this 


216  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

way,"  Hull  answered.  "  But  art  wiser  than  I,  and 
so  it  must  be.  But  pr'ythee  let  us  have  a  little 
course.  The  hounds  may  come,  but  let  us  run 
before  them,  and  then,  if  death  is  at  the  end  of 
it,  well — well,  there's  an  end  on't;  and  so  say  I." 

There  was  a  voice  behind  them,  a  voice  speak- 
ing in  broken  but  fluent  English. 

"  You  have  broken  into  my  house,  you  have 
killed  my  servant,  you  have  prevented  me  from 
calling  for  help  from  you,  a  King  lies  bound  in 
my  upper  chamber,  v'laf  And  now  you  go  to  run 
a  little  course,  to  scurry  hither  and  thither  before 
the  dogs  are  at  your  throats.  You  are  all  prepared 
to  die.  I  also  am  ready  to  die  if  it  must  be  so, 
but  it  need  not  be  so  if  you  will  listen  to  me." 

"  What  mean  you?  "  Johnnie  said. 

As  he  spoke  he  saw,  with  a  mingling  of  surprise 
and  disgust,  that  the  big  painted  face  of  Madame 
La  Motte  was  full  of  animation  and  excitement. 
She  seemed  as  if  the  events  of  the  last  hour  had 
but  stirred  her  to  endeavour,  had  given  a  fillip  to 
her  sluggish  life. 

More  astonishing  than  all,  she  rose  from  her 
chair,  gathering  together  her  vast,  unwieldy  bulk, 
came  round  from  behind  the  table,  and  joined  their 
conference  almost  with  vivacity. 

"  Ttens"  she  said,  "  there  are  other  countries 
than  this.  An  army  beaten  in  an  engagement  is 
not  always  routed.  Retreat  is  possible  within 
friendly  frontiers." 

The  horrible  old  creature  had  such  a  strength 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     217 

and  personality  about  her  that,  with  her  blood- 
stained mouth,  her  great  panting  body,  her  trem- 
bling jewelled  hands,  she  yet  in  that  moment  domi- 
nated them  all. 

'  There  is  one  last  chance.  At  dawn — and  dawn 
is  near  by — the  ship  St.  lago  sails  from  the  Thames 
for  foreign  parts.  The  master  of  the  ship,  Clark, 
is  "—she  lowered  her  voice  and  spoke  only  to 
Commendone — "  is  a  client  of  mine  here.  He  is 
much  indebted  to  me  in  many  ways,  and  ere  day 
breaks  we  may  all  be  aboard  of  her  and  sailing 
away.  What  is't  to  be,  messieurs?  " 

They  all  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in 
silence. 

Then  Elizabeth  put  her  arms  round  the  old 
woman's  neck  and  kissed  her. 

"  Madame,"  she  said,  tc  surely  God  put  this  into 
into  your  heart  to  save  us  all.  I  will  come  with 
you,  and  Johnnie  will  come,  and  good  John  Hull 
withal,  and  so  we  may  escape  and  live." 

The  old  Frenchwoman  patted  the  slim  girl  upon 
the  back.  "  Bien,  cherie,"  she  said,  "  that's  a 
thing  done.  I  will  look  after  you  and  be  a  mother 
to  you,  and  so  we  will  all  be  happy." 

Commendone  and  his  servant  looked  on  in 
amazement.  At  this  dreadful  hour,  in  this  moment 
of  extremest  peril,  the  wicked  old  woman  seemed  to 
take  charge  of  them  all.  She  did  not  seem  wicked 
now,  only  genial  and  competent,  though  there  was 
a  tremor  of  fear  in  her  voice  and  her  movements 
were  hurried  and  decisive. 


2i8  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  Jean-Marie,"  she  called  suddenly,  and  then, 
"  Phut!  I  forgot.  It  is  under  the  cushions.  Well, 
we  must  even  do  without  a  messenger.  Have  you 
money,  Master  Commendone?" 

Johnnie  shook  his  head.     "  Not  here." 

"Mais,  mon  Dieu!  I  have  a  plenty,"  she  an- 
swered, "  which  is  good  for  all  of  us.  Wait  you 
here." 

She  hurried  away,  and  went  up  the  stair  to- 
wards the  rooms  above. 

"Shall  I  follow  her,  master?"  Hull  said,  his 
hand  upon  his  dagger. 

Johnnie  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  she  is  in  our  boat.  She 
must  sink  or  swim  with  us." 

They  waited  there  for  five  or  ten  minutes,  hear- 
ing the  heavy  noise  of  Madame's  progress  above 
their  heads.  They  waited  there,  and  as  they  did 
so  the  room  seemed  to  become  cold,  their  blood  ran 
slowly  within  them,  the  three  grouped  themselves 
close  together  as  if  for  mutual  warmth  and  con- 
solation. 

Then  they  heard  a  high-pitched  voice  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs. 

"  Send  your  man  up,  Monsieur,  send  your  man 
up.  I  have  no  strength  to  lift  this  bag." 

At  a  nod  from  Johnnie,  Hull  ran  up  the  stairs. 
In  a  moment  more  he  came  down,  staggering 
under  the  burden  of  a  great  leather  wallet  slung 
over  his  shoulder,  and  was  followed  by  Madame 
La  Motte,  now  covered  in  a  fur  cloak  and  hood. 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     219 

She  held  another  on  her  arm.  "  Put  it  on,  put 
it  on,"  she  said  to  Elizabeth,  "  quickly.  We  must 
get  out  of  this.  The  dawn  comes,  the  wind  fresh- 
ens, we  have  but  an  hour." 

And  then  in  the  ghostly  dawn  the  four  people 
left  the  House  of  Shame,  left  it  with  the  red  door 
open  to  the  winds,  and  hurried  away  towards  the 
river. 

None  of  them  spoke.  The  old  dame  in  her  fur 
robe  shuffled  on  with  extraordinary  vitality,  past 
straggling  houses,  past  inns  from  which  nautical 
signs  were  hung,  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  towards 
the  mud-marsh  which  fringed  the  pool  of  Thames. 
She  walked  down  a  causeway  of  stones,  sunk  in 
the  mud  and  gravel,  to  the  edge  of  the  water. 

It  was  now  high  tide  and  the  four  came  out  in 
the  grey  light  upon  a  little  stone  quay  where  some 
sheds  were  set. 

In  front  of  one  of  them,  heavily  covered  with 
tar,  a  lantern  was  still  burning,  wan  and  yellow 
in  the  coming  light  of  day. 

Madame  La  Motte  kicked  at  the  door  of  this 
shed  with  her  high-heeled  shoe.  There  was  no 
response.  She  opened  the  door,  burst  into  a  stuffy, 
foetid  place  where  two  men  were  lying  upon  coils 
of  rope.  She  stirred  them  with  her  foot,  but  they 
were  in  heavy  sleep,  and  only  groaned  and  snored 
in  answer. 

"  I'll  wake  them,  Madame,"  Johnnie  said,  "  I'll 
stir  them  up,"  his  voice  full  of  that  thin,  high  note 
which  comes  to  those  who  feel  themselves  hunted. 


220  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

He  clapped  his  hand  to  his  side  to  find  his  sword; 
his  fingers  touched  an  empty  scabbard.  Then  he 
remembered. 

"  I  am  swordless,"  he  cried,  forgetting  every- 
thing else  as  he  realised  it. 

Behind  him  there  was  a  thud  and  a  clanking,  as 
John  Hull  dropped  the  leathern  bag  he  held. 

"  Say  not  so,  master,"  he  said,  and  held  out  to 
the  young  man  a  sword  in  a  scabbard  of  crimson 
leather,  its  hilt  of  gold  wire,  its  guard  set  with 
emeralds  and  rubies,  the  belt  which  hung  down  on 
either  side  of  the  blade,  of  polished  leather  studded 
with  little  stars  and  bosses  of  gold. 

"What  is  this?" 

"  Look  you,  sir,  as  we  passed  out  of  Madame's 
room,  I  saw  this  sword  leaning  in  a  corner  of  the 
wall  by  the  door.  His  Highness  had  left  it  there, 
doubtless,  ere  he  went  upstairs.  '  So,'  says  I  to 
myself,  '  this  is  true  spoil  of  war,  and  in  especial 
for  my  master! ' 

Johnnie  took  the  sword,  looked  at  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  unbuttoned  his  own  belt  and  girded 
it  on. 

"  So  shall  it  be  for  a  remembrance  to  me,"  he 
said,  "  for  now  and  always." 

But  he  did  not  need  to  use  it.  Madame's  exer- 
tions had  been  sufficient.  Her  shrill,  angry  voice 
had  wakened  the  watermen.  They  rose  to  their 
feet,  wiped  their  eyes,  and,  seeing  persons  of  qual- 
ity before  them,  they  hastened  down  the  little  hard 
and  embarked  the  company  in  their  wherry.  Then 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     221 

they  pulled  out  into  the  stream.  The  tide  was 
running  fast  and  free  towards  the  Nore,  but  they 
made  for  a  large  ship  of  quite  six  hundred  tons, 
which  was  at  anchor  in  mid-stream.  When  they 
came  up  to  it,  and  caught  the  hanging  ladder  upon 
the  quarter  with  a  boat-hook,  the  deck  was  already 
busy  with  seamen  in  red  caps,  and  a  tarry,  bearded 
old  salt,  his  head  tied  up  in  a  woollen  cloth,  was 
standing  on  the  high  poop,  and  cursing  the  men 
below.  Madame  La  Motte  saw  him  first.  She  put 
two  fat  fingers  in  her  mouth  and  gave  a  long 
whistle,  like  a  street  boy. 

The  captain  looked  round  him,  up  into  the  rig- 
ging where  the  sailors  were  already  busy  upon  the 
yards,  looked  to  his  right,  looked  to  his  left,  and 
then  straight  down  from  the  poop  upon  the  star- 
board quarter,  and  saw  Madame  La  Motte.  He 
stumbled  down  the  steps  on  to  the  main  deck,  and 
peered  over  the  bulwarks.  "  Mother  of  God!  " 
he  cried,  "  and  what's  this,  so  early  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

The  old  Frenchwoman  shrieked  up  at  him  in  her 
broken  English.  "  Tiens!  Tiens!  Send  your 
men  to  help  us  up,  Captain  Clark.  Thou  art  not 
awake.  Do  as  I  tell  you." 

The  captain  rubbed  his  eyes  again,  called  out 
some  orders,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  Johnnie  had 
mounted  the  ladder,  and  stood  upon  the  deck. 

"  Now  the  ladies,"  he  said  in  a  quick,  authorita- 
tive voice. 

Elizabeth  came  up  to  the  side,  and  then  it  was 


222  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

the  question  of  Madame  La  Motte.  John  Hull 
stood  in  the  tossing,  heaving  wherry,  and  gave  the 
woman  her  first  impetus.  She  clawed  the  side 
ropes,  cursing  and  spitting  like  a  cat  as  she  did  so, 
mounting  the  low  waist  of  the  ship  like  a  great 
black  slug.  As  soon  as  she  got  within  arm's  length 
of  the  captain  and  a  couple  of  sailors,  they  caught 
her  and  heaved  her  on  board  as  if  she  had  been  a 
sack,  and  within  ten  seconds  afterwards  John  Hull, 
with  the  leather  bag  over  his  shoulder,  stood  on 
the  deck  beside  them.  Johnnie  felt  in  his  pocket 
and  found  some  coins  there.  He  flung  them  over 
to  the  watermen,  and  they  fell  in  the  centre  of  the 
boat  as  it  sheered  off. 

Mr.  Clark,  captain  of  the  St.  lago,  was  now 
very  wide  awake. 

"  I  will  thank  ye,  Madame,"  he  said,  "  to  ex- 
plain your  boarding  of  my  ship  with  your  friends." 

The  quick-witted  Frenchwoman  went  up  to  him, 
put  her  fat  arms  round  his  neck,  pulled  his  head 
down,  and  spoke  in  his  ear  for  a  minute.  When 
she  had  finished  the  captain  raised  his  head, 
scratched  his  ear,  and  looked  doubtfully  at  Com- 
mendone,  Elizabeth,  and  John  Hull. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  a  thick  voice,  "  since  you  say 
it,  I  suppose  I  must,  though  there  is  little  accom- 
modation on  board  for  the  likes  of  you.  You  pay 
your  passage,  Madame,  I  suppose?" 

"  Phut!    I  will  make  you  rich." 

The  captain's  eyes  contracted  with  leery  cunning. 

"  J^here  is  more  in  this  than  meets  mine  eye — • 


HEY  HO !  AND  A  RUMBELOW !     223 

that  ye  should  be  so  eager  to  leave  London.  What 
have  ye  done,  that  is  what  I  would  like  to  know? 
I  must  inquire  into  this,  though  we  are  due  to  sail. 
I  must  send  a  man  ashore  to  speak  with  the 
Sheriff- 

'  The  Sheriff !  And  where  would  any  of  your 
dirty  sailors  find  the  Sheriff  at  this  hour  of  the 
morning?  You'll  lose  the  tide,  Master  Clark,  and 
you'll  lose  your  money,  too." 

The  captain  scratched  his  head  again. 

"  Natheless,  I  am  not  sure,"  he  began. 

Then  Johnnie  stepped  forward. 

"Captain  Clark?"  he  said,  in  short,  quick  ac- 
cents of  authority. 

'  That  am  I,"  said  the  captain. 

'  Very  good.  Then  you  will  take  these  ladies 
and  bestow  them  as  well  as  you  are  able,  and  you 
will  set  sail  at  once.  This  ship,  I  believe,  belongs 
to  His  Worship  the  Alderman,  Master  Robert 
Cressemer?  " 

The  captain  touched  his  forehead. 
'  Yes,  sir,  indeed  she  does,"  he  answered,  in  a 
very  different  voice. 

Johnnie,  from  where  he  had  been  standing,  had 
looked  down  into  the  waist,  and  had  seen  the  great 
bags  of  wool  with  the  Alderman's  trade-mark  upon 
them.  '  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  you'll  heave  an- 
chor at  once,  and  this  is  my  warrant." 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  doublet  and  pulled 
out  the  Alderman's  letter.  He  showed  him  the  last 
paragraph  of  it. 


224  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

It  was  enough. 

" 1  crave  your  pardon,  master,"  the  captain  said. 
"  I  did  not  know  that  you  came  from  His  Wor- 
ship. That  old  Moll,  I  was  ready  to  oblige  her, 
though  it  seemed  a  queer  thing  her  coming  aboard 
just  as  we  were  setting  sail.  Why  did  you  not 
speak  at  first,  sir?  Well,  all  is  right.  The  wind 
is  favourable,  and  off  we  go." 

Turning  away  from  Johnnie,  he  rushed  up  to 
the  poop  again,  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and 
bellowed  out  a  crescendo  of  orders. 

The  yards  swarmed  with  men,  there  was  a 
"  Heave  ho  and  a  rumbelow,"  a  clanking  of  the 
winch  as  the  anchor  came  up,  a  flapping  of  un- 
furled topsails  at  the  three  square-rigged  masts, 
and  in  five  minutes  more  the  St.  lago  began  to 
move  down  the  river. 

Johnnie  walked  along  the  open  planking  of  the 
waist,  mounted  to  the  poop,  and  heard  the  "  lap, 
lap  "  and  ripple  of  the  river  waves  against  the 
rudder.  He  turned  and  saw  not  far  away  to  his 
left  the  White  Tower  growing  momentarily  more 
distinct  and  clear  in  the  dawn. 

The  whole  of  the  Palace  and  Citadel  was  clear 
to  view,  the  two  flags  of  England  and  Spain  were 
just  hoisted,  running  out  before  the  breeze.  To 
his  left,  as  he  turned  right  round,  were  huddled 
houses  at  the  southern  end  of  London  Bridge.  In 
one  of  them,  empty,  lit  and  blown  through  by 
the  morning  winds,  His  Most  Catholic  Majesty 
was  lying,  silent  and  helpless. 


HEY  HO!  AND  A  RUMBELOW!     225 

He  turned  again,  looked  forward,  and  took  in  a 
great  breath  of  the  salt  air. 

The  cordage  began  to  creak,  the  sails  to  belly 
out,  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  pilot  by  Johnnie's  side 
to  call  directions.  Presently  Sheppey  Island  came 
into  view,  and  the  sky  above  it  was  all  streaked 
with  the  promise  of  daylight. 

Regardless  of  Captain  Clark  and  two  other  men, 
who  were  busied  coiling  ropes  and  making  the  poop 
ship-shape  for  the  Channel,  Johnnie  fell  upon  his 
knees,  brought  the  cross-belt  of  the  King's  sword 
to  his  lips,  and  thanked  God  that  he  was  away  with 
his  love. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE !  " 

THREE  weeks  and  two  days  had  passed,  and  the 
St.  lago  was  off  Lisbon,  and  at  anchor. 

The  sun  beat  down  upon  the  decks,  the  pitch 
bubbled  in  the  seams,  but  now  and  then  a  cool 
breeze  came  off  the  land.  The  city  with  its  long 
white  terraces  of  houses  shimmered  in  a  haze  of 
heat,  but  on  the  west  side  of  the  valley  in  which 
the  city  lay,  the  florid  gothic  of  the  great  church 
of  St.  Jerome,  built  just  five-and-fifty  years  before, 
was  perfectly  clear-cut  against  the  sapphire  sky — 
burnt  into  a  vast  enamel  of  blue,  it  seemed;  bright 
grey  upon  blue,  with  here  and  there  a  twinkling 
spot  of  gold  crowning  the  towers. 

Twenty-three  days  the  ship  had  taken  to  cut 
through  the  long  oily  Atlantic  swell  and  come  to 
port.  There  had  been  no  rough  winds  in  the 
Bay,  no  tempests  such  as  make  it  terrible  for 
mariners  at  other  times  of  the  year. 


When  they  had  arrived  on  board,  and  the  ship 
had  got  out  of  the  Thames,  none  of  the  four 
fugitives  had  the  slightest  idea  as  to  where  they 
were  going — Madame  La  Motte  least  of  all.  The 

226 


"WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE!"    227 

relief  at  their  escape  had  been  too  great;  strangely 
enough,  they  had  not  even  enquired. 

The  old  Frenchwoman,  as  soon  as  the  ship  was 
under  way,  and  Captain  Clark  could  attend  to 
her,  had  gone  below  with  him  for  half  an  hour; 
while  Johnnie,  Hull,  and  Elizabeth  remained  upon 
the  poop. 

When  La  Motte  returned,  the  captain  was  smil- 
ing. There  was  a  genial  twinkle  in  his  eye.  He 
came  up  to  the  others  in  a  very  friendly  fashion. 

"  S'death,"  he  said,  "  I  am  in  luck's  way.  Here 
you  are,  Master  Commendone,  that  are  my  owner's 
friend  and  bear  a  letter  from  him;  and  here  is 
Mistress  La  Motte,  whom  I  have  known  long 
agone.  By  carrying  ye  to  Cadiz  I  shall  be  earning 
the  Alderman's  gratitude,  and  also  good  red  coins 
of  the  Mint,  which  Madame  hath  now  paid  me." 

"Cadiz?"  Johnnie  said.     "Cadiz  in  Spain?" 

"  .That  fair  city  and  none  other,"  the  captain 
answered.  "  Heaven  favouring  us,  we  shall  bowl 
along  to  the  city  of  wine,  of  fruit,  and  of  fish. 
You  shall  sip  the  sherries  of  Jerez  and  San  Lucar, 
and  eke  taste  the  soup  of  lobsters — langosta,  they 
call  it — and  bouillabaisse  in  the  southern  parts  of 
France — upon  the  island  of  San  Leon,  where  the 
folk  do  go  upon  a  Sunday  for  that  refection.  But 
now  come  you  down  below  and  see  to  your  quar- 
ters. I  have  given  up  my  cabin  to  the  ladies,  and 
you,  sir,"  he  turned  to  Johnnie,  "  must  turn  in  with 
me,  to  which  end  I  have  commandeered  the  cabin 
of  Master  Mew,  that  is  my  chief  officer,  and  a 


228  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

merry  fellow  from  the  Isle  of  Wight,  who  will 
sing  you  a  right  good  catch  of  an  evening,  I'll 
warrant.  And  as  for  this  your  servant,  the  bo'son 
will  look  to  him,  and  he  will  not  be  among  the 
men." 

They  had  gone  below,  and  everything  was  ar- 
ranged accordingly.  The  quarters  were  more  com- 
fortable than  Commendone  had  expected,  and  as 
far  as  this  part  of  the  expedition  was  concerned 
all  was  well. 

Nevertheless,  as  Johnnie  came  up  again  upon  the 
poop  with  the  captain,  he  was  in  great  perturba- 
tion. They  were  sailing  to  Spain!  To  the  very 
country  which  was  ruled  by  the  man  he  had  so 
evilly  entreated.  Might  it  not  well  be  that,  escap- 
ing Scylla,  they  were  sailing  into  the  whirlpool  of 
Charybdis? 

The  captain  seemed  to  divine  something  of  the 
young  man's  thoughts.  He  sat  down  upon  a  coil 
of  rope  and  looked  upward  with  a  shrewd  and 
weather-beaten  eye. 

"  Look  you  here,  master,"  he  said.  "  Why  you 
came  aboard  my  ship  I  know  not.  You  caught 
me  as  I  was  weighing  anchor.  Thou  art  a  gentle- 
man of  condition,  and  yet  you  come  aboard  with 
no  mails,  and  nothing  but  that  in  which  you  stand 
up.  And  you  come  aboard  in  company  with  that 
old  Moll  of  Flanders,  La  Motte — no  fit  company 
for  a  gentleman  upon  a  voyage.  And  further- 
more, you  have  with  you  a  young  and  well-looking 
lady,  who  also  hath  no  baggage  with  her.  I  tell 


"WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE ! "    229 

you  truly  that  I  would  not  have  shipped  you  all 
had  it  not  been  for  the  letter  of  His  Worship  the 
Alderman — whose  hand  of  write  I  know  very  well 
upon  bills  of  lading  and  such.  I  like  the  look  of 
you,  and  as  Madame  there  has  paid  me  well,  'tis 
no  business  of  mine  what  you  are  doing  or  have 
done.  But  look  you  here,  if  that  pretty  young 
mistress  is  being  forced  to  come  with  you  against 
her  will — and  what  else  can  I  think  when  I  see  her 
in  the  company  of  old  Moll? — then  I  will  be  a 
party  to  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  am  not  a  married 
man,  not  regular  church-sworn,  that  is,  though 
I  have  a  woman  friend  or  two  in  this  port  or  that. 
And  moreover,  I  have  been  oft-times  to  visit  the 
house  with  the  red  door.  So  you'll  see  I  am  no 
Puritan.  But  at  the  same  time  I  will  be  no  help  to 
the  ravishing  of  maids  of  gentle  blood,  and  that 
I  ask  you  well  to  believe,  master." 

Johnnie  heard  him  patiently  to  the  end. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  this,  captain,"  he  said,  "  that 
in  what  I  am  doing  there  is  no  harm  of  any  sort. 
Mistress  Taylor,  which  is  the  name  of  the  younger 
lady,  is  the  ward  of  Mr.  Robert  Cressemer.  The 
Alderman  is  my  very  good  friend.  My  father, 
Sir  Henry  Commendone,  of  Commendone  in  Kent, 
is  his  constant  friend  and  correspondent.  The 
young  lady  was  taken  away  yesterday  from  her 
guardian's  care,  taken  in  secret  by  some  one  high 
about  the  Court — from  which  I  also  come,  being  a 
Gentleman  in  the  following  of  King  Philip.  Late 
last  night,  I  received  a  letter  from  the  Alderman, 


230  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

telling  me  of  this,  upon  which  I  and  my  servant 
immediately  set  out  for  where  we  thought  to  find 
the  stolen  lady,  in  that  we  might  rescue  her.  She 
had  been  taken,  shame  that  it  should  be  said,  to  the 
house  of  Madame  La  Motte  in  Duck  Lane.  From 
there  we  took  her,  but  in  the  taking  I  slew  a  most 
unknightly  knight  of  the  Court,  and  offered  a  grave 
indignity  to  one  placed  even  more  highly  than  he 
was.  Of  necessity,  therefore,  we  fled  from  that  ill- 
famed  house.  Madame  La  Motte  brought  us  to 
your  ship,  knowing  you.  Her  we  had  to  take  with 
us,  for  if  not,  vengeance  would  doubtless  have 
fallen  upon  her  for  what  I  did.  And  that,  Cap- 
tain Clark,  is  my  whole  story.  As  regards  the 
future,  Madame  La  Motte,  you  say,  hath  paid  you 
well.  I  have  no  money  with  me,  but  I  am  the  son 
of  a  rich  man,  and  moreover,  I  can  draw  upon  Mr. 
Cressemer  for  anything  I  require.  Gin  you  take 
us  safely  to  Cadiz,  I  will  give  you  such  a  letter  to 
the  Alderman  as  will  ensure  your  promotion  in  his 
service,  and  will  also  be  productive  of  a  sum  of 
money  for  you.  I  well  know  that  Master  Cres- 
semer would  give  a  bag  of  ducats  more  than 
you  could  lift,  to  secure  the  safety  of  Mistress 
Taylor." 

The  captain  nodded.  "  Hast  explained  thyself 
very  well,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  As  for  the  money, 
I  am  already  paid,  though  if  there  is  more  to  come, 
the  better  I  shall  be  pleased.  But  now  that  I  know 
your  state  and  condition,  and  have  heard  your 
story,  rest  assured  that  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help 


"WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE ! "    231 

you.  We  touch  at  Lisbon  first.  There  you  can 
purchase  proper  clothing  for  yourself  and  those 
who  are  with  you,  and  there  also  you  can  indite  a 
letter  to  the  Alderman,  which  will  go  to  him  by  an 
English  ship  very  speedily.  You  have  told  your 
tale,  and  I  ask  to  know  no  more.  I  would  not  know 
any  more,  i'  faith,  even  if  thou  wert  to  press  the 
knowledge  on  me.  Now  do  not  answer  me  in 
what  I  am  about  to  say,  which,  in  brief,  is  this: 
We  of  the  riverside  have  heard  talk  and  rumours. 
We  know  very  well  who  hath  now  and  then  been  a 
patron  of  La  Motte.  It  may  be  that  you  have 
come  across  and  offered  indignity  to  the  person 
of  whom  I  speak — I  am  no  fool,  Mr.  Commen- 
done,  and  gentlemen  of  your  degree  do  not  gen- 
erally come  aboard  a  vessel  in  the  tideway  at  early 
dawn  in  company  of  a  mistress  of  a  house  with  a 
red  door!  If  what  I  say  is  true — and  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  deny  or  to  affirm  upon  the  same — 
then  you  are  as  well  in  Cadiz  as  anywhere 
else.  It  is,  indeed,  a  far  cry  from  the  Tower  of 
London,  and  no  one  will  know  who  you  are  in 
Spain." 

Instinctively  Johnnie  held  out  his  hand,  and  the 
big  seaman  clasped  it  in  his  brown  and  tarry  fist. 

'  Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  in  answer,  weighing  his 
words  as  he  did  so,  "  doubtless  we  shall  be  safe 
in  Spain  for  a  time,  until  advices  can  reach  us  from 
England  with  money  and  reports  of  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

"  I   said  so,"   Captain   Clark  answered,   "  and 


232  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

now  you  see  it  also.  Mark  you,  any  vengeance 
that  might  fall  upon  you  could  only  be  secret,  be- 
cause— if  it  is  as  I  think,  and,  indeed,  well  believe — 
the  person  who  has  suffered  indignity  at  your  hands 
could  not  confess  to  it,  for  reason  of  his  state,  and 
where  it  was  he  suffered  it.  In  Spain  it  would  be 
different,  but  who's  to  know  that  you  are  in  Spain 
— for  a  long  time,  at  any  rate?  " 

"  And  by  that  time,"  Johnnie  replied,  "  I  shall 
hope  to  have  gone  farther  afield,  and  be  out  of 
the  fire  of  any  one  to  hurt  me.  But  there  is  this, 
captain,  which  you  must  consider,  sith  you  have 
opened  your  mind  to  me  as  I  to  you.  Enquiry 
will  be  made;  the  wharfingers  who  brought  us 
aboard  may  be  discovered,  and  will  speak.  It  will 
be  known — at  any  rate  it  may  be  known — that 
you  and  your  ship  were  the  instruments  of  our 
escape.  And  how  will  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  I  like  you  for  saying  that,"  said  the  captain, 
"  seeing  that  you  are,  as  it  were,  in  my  power. 
But  alarm  yourself  not  at  all,  Master  Commen- 
done." 

He  rose  from  the  coil  of  hemp  where  he  had 
been  sitting  and  spat  out  into  the  sea. 

"  By'r  Lady,"  he  cried,  "  and  dost  think  that 
an  honest  British  seafaring  man  fears  anything 
that  a  rascally,  yellow-faced,  jelly-gutted  lot  of 
Spanish  toads,  that  have  fastened  them  on  to  our 
fair  England,  can  do?  Why!  as  thinking  is  now, 
in  the  City  of  London,  my  owner,  Master  Cres- 
semer,  and  three  or  four  others  with  him,  could 


"  WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE ! "    233 

put  such  pressure  upon  Whitehall  that  ne'er  a 
word  would  be  said.  It  is  them  that  hath  the 
money,  and  the  train  bands  at  their  back,  that 
both  pay  the  piper  and  call  the  tune  in  London 
City." 

"  I'm  glad  you  take  it  that  way,  captain,"  Com- 
mendone  said,  "  but  I  felt  bound  in  duty  to  put 
your  risk  before  you.  Yet  if  it  is  as  you  say,  and 
the  power  of  the  merchant  princes  of  the  City  is 
so  great,  why  do  those  about  the  Queen  burn  and 
throw  in  prison  so  many  good  men  for  their 
religion?  " 

"  Ah,  there  you  have  me,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Religion  is  a  very  different  thing — a  plague  to 
religion,  say  I — though  I  would  not  say  it  unless  I 
were  walking  my  own  deck  and  upon  the  high  seas. 
But,  look  you,  religion  is  very  different.  They 
can  burn  a  man  for  his  religion  in  England,  but 
if  he  is  in  otherwise  right,  according  to  the  powers 
that  be,  they  cannot  make  religion  a  mere  excuse 
for  burning  him.  Now  I  myself  am  a  good  Catho- 
lic mariner  " — he  put  his  tongue  in  his  cheek  as  he 
spoke—  "  when  I  am  ashore  I  take  very  good  care 
— these  days — to  be  regular  at  Mass.  And  this 
ship  hath  been  baptised  by  a  priest  withal !  Make 
your  mind  at  rest;  they  cannot  touch  me  in  Eng- 
land for  taking  of  you  away.  There  is  too  much 
at  my  back!  And  they  cannot  touch  me  in  Spain 
because  no  one  will  know  anything  about  it  there. 
And  now  'tis  time  for  dinner.  So  come  you  down. 
There's  a  piece  of  pickled  beef  that  hath  been  in 


234  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

the  pot  this  long  time,  and  good  green  herbs  with 
it  too — the  want  of  which  you  will  feel  ere  ever 
you  make  the  Tagus." 


It  is  astonishing — although  the  observation  is 
trite — how  soon  people  adapt  themselves  to  en- 
tirely new  conditions  of  life.  The  environment  of 
yesterday  seems  like  the  experience  of  another  life; 
that  of  to-day,  though  we  have  but  just  experi- 
enced it,  becomes  already  a  thing  of  use  and  wont. 

It  was  thus  with  the  fugitives.  They  were  not 
three  days  out  from  London  River  before  they 
had  shaken  down  into  their  places  and  life  had 
become  normal  to  them  all. 

It  was  not,  of  course,  without  its  discomforts. 
Hull,  messing  with  the  bo'son,  was  very  well  off 
and  speedily  became  popular  with  every  one.  The 
brightness  and  cheeriness  of  the  fellow's  disposi- 
tion made  him  hail  and  happy  met  with  all  of  them, 
while  his  great  personal  strength  and  general  handi- 
ness  detracted  nothing  from  his  popularity.  Ma- 
dame La  Motte,  wicked  old  soldier  of  fortune  as 
she  was,  adapted  herself  to  her  surroundings  with 
true  and  cynical  French  philosophy.  She,  who  was 
used  to  live  in  the  greatest  personal  luxury,  put  up 
with  the  rough  fare,  the  confined  quarters,  with 
equanimity,  though  it  was  fortunate  that  their  pas- 
sage was  smooth,  and  that  all  the  time  the  sea 
was  tranquil  as  a  pond.  She  was  accustomed  to 
drink  fine  French  and  Italian  wines — and  to  drink 


"WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE!"    235 

a  great  deal  of  them.  Now  she  found,  perforce, 
consolation  in  Captain  Clark's  puncheons  of  Ant- 
werp spirit,  the  white  fiery  schiedam.  She  was  a 
drunkard,  this  engaging  lady,  and  imbibed  great 
quantities  of  liquor,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
captain,  who  was  paid  for  it  in  good  coin  of  the 
realm. 

The  woman  never  became  confused  or  intoxi- 
cated by  what  she  drank.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  day  she  became  a  little  sentimental,  and  was 
wont  to  talk  overmuch  of  her  good  birth,  to  expati- 
ate upon  the  fallen  glories  of  her  family.  Never- 
theless, no  single  word  escaped  her  which  could 
shock  or  enlighten  the  sensitive  purity  of  the  young 
girl  who  was  now  in  her  charge.  There  must  have 
been  some  truth  in  her  stories,  because  Commen- 
done,  who  was  a  thoroughly  well-bred  man,  could 
see  that  her  manners  were  those  of  his  own  class. 
There  was  certainly  a  free-and-easiness,  a  rakish 
bonhomie,  and  a  caustic  wit  which  was  no  part  of 
the  attributes  of  the  great  ladies  Johnnie  had  met 
— always  excepting  the  wit.  This  side  of  the  old 
woman  came  from  the  depths  into  which  she  had 
descended;  but  in  other  essentials  she  was  a  lady, 
and  the  young  man,  with  his  limited  experience  of 
life,  marvelled  at  it,  and  more  than  once  thanked 
God  that  things  were  no  worse. 

It  was  during  this  strange  voyage  that  he  learnt, 
or  began  to  learn,  that  great  lesson  of  tolerance, 
which  was  to  serve  him  so  well  in  his  after  life.  He 
realised  that  there  was  good  even  in  this  unclean 


236  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

old  procuress;  that  she  had  virtues  which  some 
decent'  women  he  had  known  had  lacked.  She 
tended  Elizabeth  with  a  maternal  care;  the  girl 
clung  to  her,  became  fond  of  her  at  once,  and 
often  said  to  Johnnie  how  kind  the  woman  was  to 
her  and  what  an  affection  she  inspired. 

Reflecting  on  these  things  in  the  lonely  watches 
of  the  night,  Commendone  saw  his  views  of  life 
perceptibly  changing  and  becoming  softened. 
This  young  man,  so  carefully  trained,  so  highly 
educated,  so  exquisitely  refined  in  thought  and  be- 
haviour, found  himself  feeling  a  real  friendship 
and  something  akin  to  tenderness  for  this  kindly, 
battered  jetsam  of  life. 

She  spoke  frankly  to  him  about  her  dreadful 
trade  of  the  past,  regarding  it  philosophically. 
There  was  a  demand;  fortune  or  fate  had  put 
her  in  the  position  of  supplying  that  demand.  // 
faut  vivre — and  there  you  were !  And  yet  it  was 
a  most  singular  contradiction  that  this  woman, 
who  for  so  long  had  exploited  and  sold  woman- 
hood, was  now  as  kind  and  tender,  as  scrupulous 
and  loving  to  Elizabeth  Taylor  as  if  the  girl  was 
her  own  daughter. 

It  was  not  without  great  significance,  Johnnie 
remembered,  that  the  soul  of  the  Canaanitish  harlot 
was  the  first  that  Christ  redeemed. 

With  Elizabeth — and  surely  there  was  never  a 
stranger  courting — Johnnie  sank  at  once  into  the 
position  of  her  devoted  lover.  It  seemed  inevi- 
table. There  was  no  prelude  to  it;  there  were  no 


"WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE!"    237 

hesitations;  it  just  happened,  as  if  it  were  a  thing 
preordained. 

From  the  very  first  the  girl  accepted  him  as  her 
natural  protector;  she  looked  up  to  him  in  all 
things;  he  became  her  present  and  her  horizon. 

It  was  on  one  lovely  night,  when  the  moon  was 
rising,  the  winds  were  soft  and  low,  and  the  stars 
came  out  in  the  dark  sky  like  golden  rain,  that  he 
first  spoke  to  her  of  what  was  to  happen. 

It  was  all  quite  simple,  though  inexpressibly 
sweet. 

They  were  alone  together  in  the  forward  part 
of  the  ship,  and  suddenly  he  took  her  slim  white 
hand — like  a  thing  of  carved  and  living  ivory — 
and  held  it  close  to  his  heart. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with 
feeling,  "  my  dear  Lizzie,  you  are  my  love  and  my 
lady.  When  first  I  saw  you  outside  St.  Botolph 
his  Church,  so  slim  and  sorrowful  in  the  grey 
dawning,  my  heart  was  pierced  with  love  for  you, 
and  during  the  sad  day  that  came  I  vowed  that  I 
would  devote  my  life  to  loving  you,  and  that  if 
God  pleased  thou  shouldst  be  my  little  wife.  Wilt 
marry  me,  darling?  nay,  thou  must  marry  me,  for 
I  need  you  so  sore,  to  be  mine  for  ever  both  here 
in  this  mortal  world  and  afterwards  with  God  and 
His  Angels.  Tell  me,  sweetheart,  wilt  marry  me  ?  " 

She  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  the  little  hand 
upon  his  heart  trembled  as  she  did  so. 

"  Why,  Johnnie,"  she  answered  at  length,  "  why, 
Johnnie,  who  could  I  marry  but  you?  " 


238  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

He  gathered  the  sweet  and  fragrant  Simplicity 
to  him ;  he  kissed  the  soft  scarlet  mouth,  his  strong 
arms  were  a  home  for  her. 

"  Or  ever  we  get  to  Seville,"  he  said,  "  we 
will  be  married,  sweetheart,  and  never  will  we 
part  from  that  day." 

She  echoed  him.  "  Never  part !  "  she  said. 
"  Oh,  Johnnie,  my  true  love;  my  dear  and  darling 
Johnnie!" 


At  Lisbon,  where  they  lay  five  days,  Madame 
La  Motte  and  Elizabeth  went  ashore,  and  pur- 
chased suitable  clothes  and  portmanteaux,  while 
Johnnie  also  fitted  himself  out  afresh.  Madame 
La  Motte  had  brought  a  very  large  sum  with  her 
in  carefully  hoarded  gold,  while  she  had  also  car- 
ried away  all  her  jewels,  which,  in  themselves,  were 
worth  a  small  fortune.  She  placed  the  whole  of 
her  money  at  Commendone's  disposal,  and  made 
him  take  charge  of  it,  with  an  airy  generosity 
which  much  touched  the  young  man.  He  explained 
to  her  that  in  the  course  of  three  months  or  so  any 
money  that  he  needed  would  reach  him  from 
England,  and  that  she  would  be  repaid,  but  she 
hardly  seemed  to  hear  him  and  waved  such  sug- 
gestion away.  And  it  is  a  most  curious  thing  that 
not  till  a  long  time  afterward  did  it  ever  occur 
to  the  young  man  how  and  in  what  way  the  money 
he  was  using  had  been  earned.  The  realisation  of 
that  was  to  come  to  him  later;  the  time  was  not  yet. 


"WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE ! "    239 

At  Lisbon  the  passengers  on  board  the  St.  lago 
were  added  to.  A  small  yellow-faced  Spaniard 
of  very  pleasant  manners — Don  Pedro  Perez  by 
name — bought  a  passage  to  Cadiz  from  Captain 
Clark,  and  there  was  another  fellow  of  the  lower 
classes,  a  tall,  athletic  young  man,  very  much  of 
Johnnie's  build,  though  with  a  heavy  and  rather 
cruel  face,  who  also  joined  the  vessel.  This  per- 
son, who  paid  the  captain  a  small  sum  to  be  car- 
ried to  the  great  port,  lived  with  the  sailors,  and 
interfered  nothing  with  the  life  of  the  others. 

Don  Perez  proved  himself  an  amusing  com- 
panion and  was  very  courteous  to  the  ladies. 

From  him  Johnnie  made  many  enquiries  and 
learnt  a  good  deal  of  what  he  wanted  to  know. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  Commendone's  mother 
was  a  Spaniard,  a  girl  of  the  Senebria  family  of 
Seville.  Johnnie  knew  little  of  his  relations  on  his 
mother's  side,  but  old  Sir  Henry  still  kept  up 
some  slight  intercourse  with  Don  Jose  Senebria, 
the  brother  of  his  late  wife.  Now  and  again 
a  cask  of  wine  and  some  pottles  of  olives  arrived 
at  Commendone,  and  occasionally  the  knight  re- 
turned the  present,  sending  out  bales  of  Flemish 
cloth.  It  was  Johnnie's  purpose  to  immediately 
proceed  from  Cadiz  to  Seville  after  their  arrival 
at  the  port.  He  learnt  with  satisfaction  that  Don 
Jose  still  inhabited  the  old  family  palace  by  the 
Giralda,  and  he  felt  that  he  would  at  least  be 
among  friends  and  sure  of  a  welcome. 

While  the   St.  lago  lay  at   Lisbon,   two   days 


24o  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

before  she  set  sail  from  there,  an  English  ship 
arrived,  and  from  that  time  until  she  weighed 
anchor  Johnnie  and  none  of  his  companions  went 
ashore.  It  was  extremely  unlikely  that  they  would 
incur  any  danger,  for  the  Queen  Mary,  which 
was  the  name  of  the  ship,  must  have  sailed  at  very 
much  the  same  time  as  they  did.  It  was  as  well, 
however,  to  undergo  no  unnecessary  risks. 

On  the  day  before  the  St.  lago  sailed  for  Cadiz 
a  great  Spanish  galley  came  up  the  Tagus,  a  long 
and  splendid  ship,  gliding  swiftly  up  the  river 
with  its  two  banks  of  oars.  It  was  the  first  galley 
Johnnie  had  ever  seen,  and  he  shuddered  as  he 
thought  of  the  chained  slaves  below,  who  pro- 
pelled that  sort  of  vessel,  which  was  spoken  of  in 
England  as  a  floating  hell.  The  galley  lay  at 
Lisbon  for  several  hours,  and  then  at  evening  left 
the  wharf  where  she  had  been  tied  and  once  more 
went  down  the  river  for  the  open  sea. 

Johnnie  was  on  deck  as  she  passed,  just  about 
sunset,  and  watched  with  great  interest,  for  the 
galley  crossed  the  stern  of  the  St.  lago  only  fifty 
yards  away  from  him. 

He  heard  the  regular  machine-like  chunking  of 
the  oars;  he  heard  also  a  sharper,  more  pistol-like 
sound,  which  he  knew  was  none  other  than  the 
cracking  of  the  overseers'  whips,  as  they  flogged 
the  slaves  to  greater  exertions. 

He  did  not  see  that  among  a  little  group  of 
people  upon  the  high  castellated  poop  of  the  galley 
there  was  one  figure,  a  tall  figure,  muffled  in  a 


"WHY,  WHO  BUT  YOU,  JOHNNIE ! "    241 

cloak,  and  with  a  broad-brimmed  Spanish  hat  low 
upon  its  face,  who  started  and  peered  eagerly  at 
him  as  the  ship  went  by. 

Nor  did  he  hear  a  low  chuckle  of  amusement 
which  came  from  that  cloaked  figure. 

Elizabeth  was  standing  by  his  side.  He  turned 
to  her. 

"Let  us  go  below,"  he  said;  "they  will  be 
bringing  supper.  Sweetheart,  I  feel  sad  to  think 
of  those  wretched  men  that  pull  that  splendid  ship 
so  swiftly  through  the  seas." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"  MISERICORDIA    ET  JUSTITIA  " 
(The  ironic  motto  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition) 

THEY  had  passed  Cape  de  St.  Vincent,  and,  under 
a  huge  copper-coloured  moon  which  flooded  the 
sea  with  light  and  seemed  like  a  chased  buckler  of 
old  Rome,  were  slipping  along  towards  Faro,  south- 
wards and  eastwards  to  Cadiz. 

The  night  was  fair,  sweet,  and  golden.  The 
airs  which  filled  the  sails  of  the  square-rigged 
ship  were  soft  and  warm.  The  "  lap,  lap  "  of  the 
small  waves  upon  the  cutwater  was  soothing  and 
in  harmony  with  the  hour. 

Elizabeth  had  been  sleeping  in  the  cabin  long 
since,  but  Commendone,  old  Madame  La  Motte, 
and  the  little  weazened  Don  Perez  were  sitting 
on  the  forecastle  desk  together,  among  the  six 
brass  carronades  which  were  mounted  there,  ready 
loaded,  in  case  of  an  attack  by  the  pirates  of 
Tangier. 

"  You  were  going  to  tell  us,  Senor,"  Johnnie 
said,  "  something  of  the  Holy  Office,  and  why, 
when  you  leave  Seville,  you  leave  Spain  for  ever." 

Don  Perez  nodded.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and 
peered  round  the  wooden  tower  of  the  forecastle, 
which  nearly  filled  the  bow-deck. 

242 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     243 

"  There  is  nobody  there,"  he  said,  with  a  little 
sigh  of  relief.  "  That  fellow  we  took  aboard  at 
Lisbon  is  down  in  the  waist  with  the  mari- 
ners." 

"But  why  do  you  fear  him?"  Johnnie  an- 
swered in  surprise. 

The  little  yellow  man  plucked  at  his  pointed 
black  beard,  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then 
spoke. 

"Have  you  noticed  his  hands,  Senor?"  he 
asked. 

"  Since  you  say  so,"  Johnnie  replied,  with  won- 
der in  his  voice,  "  I  have  noticed  them.  He  is  a 
proper  young  man  of  his  inches,  strong  and  an  ath- 
lete, though  I  like  not  his  face.  But  his  hands  are 
out  of  all  proportion.  They  are  too  large,  and  the 
thumbs  too  broad — indeed,  I  have  never  seen 
thumbs  like  them  upon  a  hand  before." 

Don  Pedro  Perez  nodded  significantly.  "  Cier- 
tamenta,"  he  answered  dryly.  "  It  is  hereditary; 
it  comes  of  his  class.  He  is  a  sworn  torturer  of 
the  Holy  Office." 

Johnnie  shuddered.  They  had  been  speaking 
in  Spanish.  Now  he  exclaimed  in  his  own  tongue. 
"  Good  God!  "  he  said,  "  how  horrible!  " 

Perez  grinned  sadly  and  cynically  as  the  moon- 
light fell  upon  his  yellow  face.  "  You  may  well 
start,  Sefior,"  he  said,  "  but  you  know  little  of  the 
land  to  which  you  are  going  yet." 

There  came  a  sudden,  rapid  exclamation  in 
French.  Madame  La  Motte,  speaking  in  that 


244  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

slow,  frightened  voice  which  had  been  hers 
throughout  the  voyage,  was  interposing. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said,  "  but  I  want  to 
hear  what  the  gentleman  has  to  say.  He  speaks 
French;  let  us  therefore  use  that  language." 

Don  Perez  bowed.  "  I  am  quite  agreeable,"  he 
said;  "  but  I  doubt,  Madame,  that  you  will  care  to 
hear  all  I  was  going  to  tell  the  Senor  here." 

"  Phut !  "  said  the  Frenchwoman.  "  I  know 
more  evil  things  than  you  or  Don  Commendone 
have  ever  dreamed  of.  Say  what  you  will." 

Don  Perez  drew  a  little  nearer  to  the  others, 
squatting  down,  with  his  head  against  the  bow- 
men's tower. 

1  You  have  asked  me  about  the  Inquisition, 
Monsieur  and  Madame,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  and  as  ye  are  going  to  Seville,  I  will  tell  you,  for 
you  have  been  courteous  and  kind  to  me  since  I 
left  Lisbon,  and  you  may  as  well  be  warned.  I  am 
peculiarly  fitted  to  tell  you,  because  my  brother — 
God  and  Our  Lady  rest  his  blood-stained  soul ! — 
was  a  notary  of  the  Holy  Office  at  Seville.  We 
are,  originally,  Lisbon  people,  and  my  brother 
was  paying  a  visit  to  his  family,  being  on  leave 
from  his  duties.  He  caught  fever  and  died,  and  I 
am  bearing  back  his  papers  with  me  to  Seville,  from 
which  city  I  shall  depart  as  soon  as  may  be.  It 
is  only  care  for  my  own  skin  that  makes  me  act 
thus  as  executor  to  my  brother,  Garcia  Perez.  Did 
I  not,  they  would  seek  me  out  wherever  I  might 
be." 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     245 

'You  go  in  fear,  then?"  Johnnie  asked  curi- 
ously. 

"  All  Spaniards  go  in  fear,"  Perez  answered, 
"  under  this  reign.  It  is  the  horror  of  the  In- 
quisition that  while  any  one  may  be  haled  before 
it  on  a  complaint  which  is  anonymous,  hardly  any 
one  ever  escapes  certain  penalties.  Senor,"  his 
voice  trembled,  and  a  deep  note  of  feeling  came 
into  it,  "  if  the  fate  of  that  wretch  is  heavy  who, 
being  innocent  of  heresy,  will  not  confess  his 
guilt,  and  is  therefore  tortured  until  he  confesses 
imaginary  guilt,  and  is  then  burned  to  death,  hardly 
less  is  the  misery  of  the  victim  who  recants  or 
repenteth  and  is  freed  from  the  penalty  of  death." 

"  Tiens!  "  said  La  Motte,  shuddering.  "  I  have 
heard  somewhat  of  this  in  Paris;  but  continue, 
Monsieur,  continue." 

"  No  one  knows,"  the  little  man  answered, 
"  how  the  Holy  Office  is  striking  at  the  root  of  all 
national  life  in  my  country.  And  no  one  has  a 
better  knowledge  of  it  all  at  second  hand — for, 
thank  Our  Lady,  I  have  never  yet  been  suspected 
or  arraigned — than  I  myself,  for  my  brother  being 
for  long  notary  and  secretary  to  the  Grand  In- 
quisitor of  Seville,  I  have  heard  much.  Now  I 
must  tell  you,  that  the  place  of  torture  is  generally 
an  underground  and  very  dark  room,  to  which  one 
enters  through  several  doors.  There  is  a  tribunal 
erected  in  it,  where  the  Inquisitor,  Inspector,  and 
Secretary  sit.  When  the  candles  are  lighted,  and 
the  person  to  be  tortured  is  brought  in,  the  exe- 


246  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

cutioner,  who  is  waiting  for  him,  makes  an  aston- 
ishing and  dreadful  appearance.  He  is  covered  all 
over  with  black  linen  garments  down  to  his  feet 
and  tied  close  to  his  body.  His  head  and  face 
are  all  hidden  with  a  long  black  cowl,  only  two 
little  holes  being  left  in  it  for  him  to  see  through. 
All  this  is  intended  to  strike  the  miserable  wretch 
with  greater  terror  in  mind  and  body,  when  he  sees 
himself  going  to  be  tortured  by  the  hands  of  one 
who  thus  looks  like  the  very  Devil." 

Johnnie  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat  and  struck 
the  breech  of  a  carronade  with  his  open  hand. 
"  Phew !  Devil's  tricks  indeed,"  he  said. 

"Whilst,"  Don  Perez  went  on,  "whilst  the 
officers  are  getting  things  ready  for  the  torture, 
the  Bishop  and  Inquisitor  by  themselves,  and  other 
men  zealous  for  the  faith,  endeavour  to  persuade 
the  person  to  be  tortured  freely  to  confess  the 
truth,  and  if  he  will  not,  they  order  the  officers 
to  strip  him,  who  do  it  in  an  instant. 

'  Whilst  the  person  to  be  tortured  is  stripping, 
he  is  persuaded  to  confess  the  truth.  If  he  refuses 
it,  he  is  taken  aside  by  certain  men  and  urged  to 
confess,  and  told  by  them  that  if  he  confesses  he 
will  not  be  put  to  death,  but  only  be  made  to  swear 
that  he  will  not  return  to  the  heresy  he  hath  ab- 
jured. If  he  is  persuaded  neither  by  threatenings 
nor  promises  to  confess  his  crime,  he  is  tortured 
either  more  lightly  or  grievously  according  as  his 
crime  requires,  and  frequently  interrogated  during 
the  torture  upon  those  articles  for  which  he  is  put 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     247 

to  it,  beginning  with  the  lesser  ones,  because  they 
think  he  would  sooner  confess  the  lesser  matters 
than  the  greater." 

"  Criminals  are  racked  in  England,"  Johnnie 
said,  "  and  are  flogged  most  grievously,  as  well 
they  deserve,  I  do  not  doubt." 

Perez  chuckled.  "  Aye,"  he  said,  "  that  I  well 
know;  but  you  have  nothing  in  England  like  the 
Holy  Office.  But  let  me  tell  you  more  as  to  the 
law  of  it,  for,  as  I  have  said,  my  brother  was  one  of 
them." 

He  went  on  in  a  low  regular  voice,  almost  as  if 
he  were  repeating  something  learned  by  rote.  .  .  . 
'What  think  you  of  this?  The  Inquisitors 
themselves  must  interrogate  the  criminals  during 
their  torture,  nor  can  they  commit  this  business 
to  others  unless  they  are  engaged  in  other  important 
affairs,  in  which  case  they  may  depute  certain  skil- 
ful men  for  the  purpose. 

"  Although  in  other  nations  criminals  are  pub- 
licly tortured,  yet  in  Spain  it  is  forbidden  by  the 
Royal  Law  for  any  to  be  present  whilst  they  are 
torturing,  besides  the  judges,  secretaries,  and  tor- 
turers. The  Inquisitors  must  also  choose  proper 
torturers,  born  of  ancient  Christians,  who  must  be 
bound  by  oath  by  no  means  to  discover  their 
secrets,  nor  to  report  anything  that  is  said. 

'  The  judges  also  shall  protest  that  if  the  crimi- 
nal should  happen  to  die  under  his  torture,  or  by 
reason  of  it,  or  should  suffer  the  loss  of  any  of 
his  limbs,  it  is  not  to  be  imputed  to  them,  but  to 


248  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

the  criminal  himself,  who  will  not  plainly  confess 
the  truth  before  he  is  tortured. 

"  A  heretic  may  not  only  be  interrogated  con- 
cerning himself,  but  in  general  also  concerning  his 
companions  and  accomplices  in  his  crime,  his  teach- 
ers and  his  disciples,  for  he  ought  to  discover 
them,  though  he  be  not  interrogated;  but  when  he 
is  interrogated  concerning  them,  he  is  much  more 
obliged  to  discover  them  than  his  accomplices  in 
any  other  the  most  grievous  crimes. 

"  A  person  also  suspected  of  heresy  and  fully 
convicted  may  be  tortured  upon  another  account, 
that  is,  to  discover  his  companions  and  accom- 
plices in  the  crime.  This  must  be  done  when  he 
hesitates,  or  it  is  half  fully  proved,  at  least,  that 
he  was  actually  present  with  them,  or  he  hath  such 
companions  and  accomplices  in  his  crime;  for  in 
this  case  he  is  not  tortured  as  a  criminal,  but  as 
a  witness. 

"  But  he  who  makes  full  confession  of  himself 
is  not  tortured  upon  a  different  account;  whereas 
if  he  be  a  negative  he  may  be  tortured  upon  another 
account,  to  discover  his  accomplices  and  other 
heretics  though  he  be  full  convicted  himself,  and 
it  be  half  fully  proved  that  he  hath  such  accom- 
plices. 

"  The  reason  of  the  difference  in  these  cases  is 
this,  because  he  who  confesses  against  himself 
would  certainly  much  rather  confess  against  other 
heretics  if  he  knew  them.  But  it  is  otherwise  when 
the  criminal  is  a  negative. 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     249 

"  While  these  things  are  doing,  the  notary  writes 
everything  down  in  the  process,  as  what  tortures 
were  inflicted,  concerning  what  matters  the  prisoner 
was  interrogated,  and  what  he  answered. 

"  If  by  these  tortures  they  cannot  draw  from 
him  a  confession,  they  show  him  other  kind  of 
tortures,  and  tell  him  he  must  undergo  all  of  them, 
unless  he  confesses  the  truth. 

"  If  neither  by  these  means  they  can  extort  the 
truth,  they  may,  to  terrify  him  and  engage  him  to 
confess,  assign  the  second  or  third  day  to  continue, 
not  to  repeat,  the  torture,  till  he  hath  under- 
gone all  those  kinds  of  them  to  which  he  is  con- 
demned." 

"  It  is  bitter  cruel,"  Madame  La  Motte  said, 
"  bitter  cruel.  It  is  not  honest  torture  such  as  we 
have  in  Paris." 

Commendone  shuddered.  "  Honest  torture !  " 
he  said.  "  There  is  no  torture  which  is  honest, 
nor  could  be  liked  by  Christ  our  Lord.  I  saw  a 
saint  burned  to  his  death  a  few  weeks  agone.  It 
taught  me  a  lesson." 

The  little  Spaniard  tittered.  "  It  must  be !  It 
must  be  !  "  he  said;  "  and  who  are  you  and  I,  Senor, 
to  flout  the  decrees  of  Holy  Church?  The  burning 
doth  not  last  for  long.  I  have  seen  a  many  burned 
upon  the  Quemadero,  and  twenty  minutes  is  the 
limit  of  their  suffering.  It  is  not  so  in  the  dungeons 
of  the  Holy  Office." 

"  What  then  do  they  do?  "  Madame  La  Motte 
asked  eagerly,  though  she  trembled  as  she  asked 


25o  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

it — morbid  excitement  alone  being  able  to  thrill 
her  vicious,  degenerate  blood. 

"  The  degrees  of  torture  are  five,  which  are 
inflicted  in  turn,"  Perez  answered  briskly.  "  First, 
the  being  threatened  to  be  tortured;  secondly,  being 
carried  to  the  place  of  torture;  thirdly,  by  stripping 
and  binding;  fourthly,  the  being  hoisted  on  the 
rack;  fifthly,  squassation. 

'  The  stripping  is  performed  without  any  re- 
gard to  humanity  or  honour,  not  only  to  men,  but 
to  women  and  virgins,  though  the  most  virtuous 
and  chaste,  of  whom  they  have  sometimes  many 
in  their  prison  at  Seville.  For  they  cause  them  to 
be  stripped  even  to  their  very  shifts,  which  they 
afterwards  take  off,  forgive  the  expression,  and 
then  put  on  them  straight  linen  drawers,  and  then 
make  their  arms  naked  quite  up  to  their  shoulders. 
-You  ask  me  what  is  squassation?" 

Nobody  had  asked  him,  but  he  went  on : 

"It  is  thus  performed:  The  prisoner  hath  his 
hands  bound  behind  his  back  and  weights  tied  to 
his  feet,  and  then  he  is  drawn  up  on  high  till  his 
head  reaches  the  very  pulley.  He  is  kept  hanging 
in  this  manner  for  some  time,  that  by  the  greatness 
of  the  weight  hanging  at  his  feet,  all  his  joints 
and  limbs  may  be  dreadfully  stretched,  and  on  a 
sudden  he  is  let  down  with  a  jerk  by  slacking  the 
rope,  but  kept  from  coming  quite  to  the  ground, 
by  the  which  terrible  shake  his  arms  and  legs  are 
all  disjointed,  whereby  he  is  put  to  the  most  ex- 
quisite pain;  the  shock  which  he  receives  by  the 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     25 1 

sudden  stop  of  the  fall,  and  the  weight  at  his  feet, 
stretching  his  whole  body  more  intently  and 
cruelly." 

Johnnie  jumped  up  from  the  deck  and  stretched 
his  arms.  "  What  fiends  be  these !  "  he  cried. 
"  Is  there  no  justice  nor  true  legal  process  in 
Spain?" 

"Holy  Church!  Holy  Church,  Senor!"  the 
Don  replied.  "  But  sit  you  down  again.  Sith  you 
are  going  to  Seville,  as  I  understand  you  to  say,  let 
me  tell  you  what  happened  to  a  noble  lady  of  that 
city,  Joan  Bohorquia,  the  wife  of  Francis  Varquius, 
a  very  eminent  man  and  lord  of  Highuera,  and 
daughter  of  Peter  Garcia  Xeresius,  a  most  wealthy 
citizen.  All  this  I  tell  you  of  my  personal  knowl- 
edge, in  that  my  brother  was  acquainted  with  it  all 
and  part  of  the  machinery  of  the  Holy  Office.  And 
this  is  a  most  sad  and  pitiful  story,  which,  Senor 
Englishman,  you  would  think  a  story  of  the  doings 
of  devils  from  hell !  But  no  I  'Twas  all  done  by 
the  priests  of  Jesus  our  Lord;  and  so  now  to  my 
story. 

"  Eight  days  after  her  delivery  they  took  the 
child  from  her,  and  on  the  fifteenth  shut  her  close 
up,  and  made  her  undergo  the  fate  of  the  other 
prisoners,  and  began  to  manage  her  with  their  usual 
arts  and  rigour.  In  so  dreadful  a  calamity  she 
had  only  this  comfort,  that  a  certain  pious  young 
woman,  who  was  afterwards  burned  for  her  religion 
by  the  Inquisitors,  was  allowed  her  for  her  com- 
panion. 


252  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  This  young  creature  was,  on  a  certain  day, 
carried  out  to  her  torture,  and  being  returned 
from  it  into  her  jail,  she  was  so  shaken,  and  had  all 
her  limbs  so  miserably  disjointed,  that  when  she 
laid  upon  her  bed  of  rushes  it  rather  increased  her 
misery  than  gave  her  rest,  so  that  she  could  not 
turn  herself  without  most  excessive  pain. 

"  In  this  condition,  as  Bohorquia  had  it  not  in 
her  power  to  show  her  any  or  but  very  little  out- 
ward kindness,  she  endeavoured  to  comfort  her 
mind  with  great  tenderness. 

'  The  girl  had  scarce  begun  to  recover  from  her 
torture,  when  Bohorquia  was  carried  out  to  the 
same  exercise,  and  was  tortured  with  such  diabolical 
cruelty  upon  the  rack,  that  the  rope  pierced  and 
cut  into  the  very  bones  in  several  places,  and  in 
this  manner  she  was  brought  back  to  prison,  just 
ready  to  expire,  the  blood  immediately  running 
out  of  her  mouth  in  great  plenty.  Undoubtedly 
they  had  burst  her  bowels,  insomuch  that  the  eighth 
day  after  her  torture  she  died. 

"  And  when,  after  all,  they  could  not  procure 
sufficient  evidence  to  condemn  her,  though  sought 
after  and  procured  by  all  their  inquisitorial  arts, 
yet  as  the  accused  person  was  born  in  that  place, 
where  they  were  obliged  to  give  some  account  of 
the  affair  to  the  people,  and,  indeed,  could  not  by 
any  means  dissemble  it,  in  the  first  act  of  triumph 
appointed  her  death,  they  commanded  her  sentence 
to  be  pronounced  in  these  words :  '  Because  this 
lady  died  in  prison  (without  doubt  suppressing 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     253 

the  causes  of  it),  and  was  found  to  be  innocent 
upon  inspecting  and  diligently  examining  her  cause, 
therefore  the  holy  tribunal  pronounces  her  free 
from  all  charges  brought  against  her  by  the  fiscal, 
and  absolving  her  from  any  further  process,  doth 
restore  her  both  as  to  her  innocence  and  reputation, 
and  commands  all  her  effects,  which  had  been  con- 
fiscated, to  be  restored  to  those  to  whom  they  of 
right  belonged,  etc.'  And  thus,  after  they  had 
murdered  her  by  torture  with  savage  cruelty,  they 
pronounced  her  innocent !  " 

"I  will  not  go  to  Spain!  They'll  have  me; 
they're  bound  to  have  me !  I  dare  not  go !  "  La 
Motte  spluttered. 

"  Hush,  Madame  1  "  said  Perez.  "  Even  here 
on  the  high  seas  you  do  not  know  who  hears  you — > 
there  is  that  man  ..." 

Again  Johnnie  leapt  to  his  feet;  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  little  portion  of  the  deck  between  the 
forecastle  and  bowsprit. 

Elizabeth  was  sleeping  quietly  down  below.  He 
had  seen  her  father  die.  His  mind  whirled. 
"  Jesus!  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  is  this  in- 
deed Thy  world,  when  men  who  love  Thee  must 
die  for  a  shadow  of  belief  in  their  worship  !  Surely 
some  savage  pagan  god  would  not  exact  this  from 
his  votaries." 

He  swung  round  to  Perez,  still  sitting  upon  the 
deck. 

"  And  may  not  we  love  God  and  His  Mother  in 
Spain?"  he  asked,  "without  definitions  and  little 


254  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

tiny  rules?  Then,  if  this  is  so,  God  indeed  hides 
His  face  from  Christian  countries." 

"  Chiton!  "  the  Spaniard  said.  "  Hush !  if  you 
said  that,  Senor,  or  anything  like  it,  where  you 
are  going,  you  would  not  be  twelve  hours  out  of  the 
prisons  of  the  Holy  Office.  If  that  hang-faced 
dog  who  is  down  below  with  the  mariners  had 
heard  you,  you  might  well  look  to  your  landing  in 
the  dominions  of  his  Most  Catholic  Majesty." 

He  laughed,  a  bitter  and  cynical  laugh. 
;'  Well,"  he  said,  "  for  my  part,  I  shall  soon  be 
done  with  it.  Hitherto  I  have  been  protected  by 
my  brother,  who,  as  I  have  told  you,  is  but  lately 
dead;  but,  knowing  what  I  know,  I  dare  no  longer 
remain  in  Spain.  'Tis  a  wonder  to  me,  indeed,  that 
men  can  go  about  their  business  under  the  sun  in 
the  fashion  that  they  do.  But  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  endure  the  strain,  and  also  I  know  more 
than  the  ordinary — I  know  too  much.  So  when  I 
have  delivered  the  papers  that  I  carry  of  my 
brother's  to  the  authorities  in  Seville,  I  sail  away. 
I  have  enough  money  to  live  in  ease  for  the  rest  of 
my  life,  and  in  some  little  vineyard  of  the  Ape- 
ninnes  I  shall  watch  my  grapes  ripen,  live  a  simple 
life,  and  meditate  upon  the  ferocity  of  men. — But 
you  have  not  heard  all  yet,  Senor." 

Johnnie  leant  against  the  forecastle,  tall  and 
silent  in  the  moonlight. 

"Then  tell  me  more,  Senor,"  he  said;  "it  is 
well  to  know  all.  But " — he  looked  at  Madame 
La  Motte. 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     255 

"  Continuez,"  the  old  creature  answered  in  a 
cracked  voice;  "  I  also  would  hear  it  all,  if,  indeed, 
there  is  worse  than  this." 

"  Worse !  "  Perez  answered.  "  Let  me  tell  you 
of  the  fate  of  a  man  I  knew  well,  and  liked  withal. 
He  was  a  Jew,  Seiior,  but  nevertheless  I  liked  him 
well.  We  had  dealings  together,  and  I  found  him 
more  honest  in  his  walking  than  many  a  Christian 
man.  Orobio  was  his  name — Isaac  Orobio,  doc- 
tor of  physic,  who  was  accused  to  the  Inquisition  as 
a  Jew  by  a  certain  Moor,  his  servant,  who  had, 
by  his  order,  before  this  been  whipped  for  thieving. 
Orobio  conformed  to  religion,  but  the  Moor  ac- 
cused him,  and  four  years  after  this  he  was  again 
accused  by  an  enemy  of  his,  for  another  fact  which 
would  have  proved  him  a  Jew.  But  Orobio  ob- 
stinately denied  that  he  was  one." 

"  I  like  not  Jews,"  Commendone  said,  with  a 
little  shudder,  voicing  the  popular  hatred  of  the 
day. 

"  Art  young,  Senor,"  the  Spaniard  replied,  "  and 
doubtless  thou  hast  not  known  nor  been  friends 
with  members  of  that  oppressed  race.  I  have 
known  many,  and  have  had  sweet  friends  among 
them ;  and  among  the  Ebrews  are  to  be  found  salt 
of  the  earth.  But  I  will  give  you  the  story  of 
Orobio's  torture  as  I  had  it  from  his  own  mouth. 

"  After  three  whole  years  which  he  had  been 
in  jail,  and  several  examinations,  and  the  discovery 
of  the  crimes  to  him  of  which  he  was  accused,  in 
order  to  his  confession  and  his  constant  denial  of 


256  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

them,  he  was,  at  length,  carried  out  of  his  jail 
and  through  several  turnings  and  brought  to  the 
place  of  torture.  This  was  towards  evening. 

"  It  was  a  large,  underground  room,  arched, 
and  the  walls  covered  with  black  hangings.  The 
candlesticks  were  fastened  to  the  wall,  and  the 
whole  room  enlightened  with  candles  placed  in 
them.  At  one  end  of  it  there  was  an  enclosed  place 
like  a  closet,  where  the  Inquisitor  and  notary  sat 
at  a  table — that  notary,  Senor,  was  my  brother. 
The  place  seemed  to  Orobio  as  the  very  mansion 
of  death,  everything  appearing  so  terrible  and 
awful.  Here  the  Inquisitor  again  admonished  him 
to  confess  the  truth  before  his  torment  began. 

"  When  he  answered  he  had  told  the  truth,  the 
Inquisitor  gravely  protested  that  since  he  was  so 
obstinate  as  to  suffer  the  torture,  the  Holy  Office 
would  be  innocent  if  he  should  shed  his  blood,  or 
even  expire  in  his  torments.  When  he  had  said 
this,  they  put  a  linen  garment  over  Orobio's  body, 
and  drew  it  so  very  close  on  each  side  as  almost 
to  squeeze  him  to  death.  When  he  was  almost 
dying,  they  slackened,  at  once,  the  sides  of  the 
garment,  and  after  he  began  to  breathe  again,  the 
sudden  alteration  put  him  to  most  grievous  anguish 
and  pain.  When  he  had  overcome  this  torture, 
the  same  admonition  was  repeated,  that  he  would 
confess  the  truth  in  order  to  prevent  further 
torment. 

"  And  as  he  persisted  in  his  denial,  they  tied 
his  thumbs  so  very  tightly  with  small  cords  as 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     257 

made  the  extremities  of  them  greatly  swell,  and 
caused  the  blood  to  spurt  out  from  under  his  nails. 
After  this,  he  was  placed  with  his  back  against  the 
wall  and  fixed  upon  a  little  bench.  Into  the  wall 
were  fastened  little  iron  pulleys,  through  which 
there  were  ropes  drawn  and  tied  round  his  body  in 
several  places,  and  especially  his  arms  and  legs. 
The  executioner  drawing  these  ropes  with  great 
violence,  fastened  his  body  with  them  to  the  wall, 
so  that  his  hands  and  feet,  and  especially  his 
fingers  and  toes,  being  bound  so  straitly  with  them, 
put  him  to  the  most  exquisite  pain,  and  seemed 
to  him  just  as  though  he  had  been  dissolving  in 
flames.  In  the  midst  of  these  torments,  the  tor- 
turer of  a  sudden  drew  the  bench  from  under  him, 
so  that  the  miserable  wretch  hung  by  the  cords 
without  anything  to  support  him,  and  by  the  weight 
of  his  body  drew  the  knots  yet  much  closer. 

"  After  this  a  new  kind  of  torture  succeeded. 
There  was  an  instrument  like  a  small  ladder,  made 
of  two  upright  pieces  of  wood  and  five  cross  ones, 
sharpened  before.  This  the  torturer  placed  over 
against  him,  and  by  a  certain  proper  motion  struck 
it  with  great  violence  against  both  his  shins,  so  that 
he  received  upon  each  of  them,  at  once,  five  violent 
strokes,  which  put  him  to  such  intolerable  anguish 
that  he  fainted  away.  After  he  came  to  himself 
they  inflicted  on  him  the  last  torture. 

"  The  torturer  tied  ropes  round  Orobio's  wrists, 
and  then  put  those  ropes  about  his  own  back, 
which  was  covered  with  leather  to  prevent  his  hurt- 


258  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

ing  himself.  Then,  falling  backwards,  and  put- 
ting his  feet  up  against  the  wall,  he  drew  them  with 
all  his  might  till  they  cut  through  Orobio's  flesh, 
even  to  the  very  bones;  and  this  torture  was  re- 
peated thrice,  the  ropes  being  tied  about  his  arms, 
about  the  distance  of  two  fingers'  breadth  from  his 
former  wound,  and  drawn  with  the  same  violence. 

"  But  it  happened  to  poor  Orobio  that  as  the 
ropes  were  drawing  the  second  time  they  slid  into 
the  first  wound,  which  caused  so  great  an  effusion 
of  blood  that  he  seemed  to  be  dying.  Upon  this, 
the  physician  and  surgeon,  who  are  always  ready, 
were  sent  for  out  of  a  neighbouring  apartment, 
to  ask  their  advice,  whether  the  torture  could  be 
continued  without  danger  of  death,  lest  the  ecclesi- 
astical judges  should  be  guilty  of  an  irregularity 
if  the  criminal  should  die  in  his  torments. 

"  Now  they,  Senor,  who  were  very  far  from 
being  enemies  to  Orobio,  answered  that  he  had 
strength  enough  to  endure  the  rest  of  the  torture. 
And  by  doing  this  they  preserved  him  from  having 
the  torture  he  had  already  endured  repeated  on 
him,  because  his  sentence  was  that  he  should  suffer 
them  all  at  one  time,  one  after  another,  so  that  if 
at  any  time  they  are  forced  to  leave  off,  through 
fear  of  death,  the  tortures,  even  those  already  suf- 
fered, must  be  successively  inflicted  to  satisfy  the 
sentence.  Upon  this  the  torture  was  repeated  the 
third  time,  and  then  was  ended.  After  this  Orobio 
was  bound  up  in  his  own  clothes  and  carried  back 
to  his  prison,  and  was  scarce  healed  of  his  wounds 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     259 

in  seventy  days,  and  inasmuch  as  he  made  no  con- 
fession under  his  torture,  he  was  condemned,  not 
as  one  convicted,  but  suspected  of  Judaism,  to 
wear  for  two  whole  years  the  infamous  habit  called 
the  sanbenito,  and  it  was  further  decreed  that  after 
that  term  he  should  suffer  perpetual  banishment 
from  the  kingdom  of  Seville." 

The  Frenchwoman,  who  had  been  listening  with 
strained  attention,  broke  in  suddenly.  "  Nom  de 
Dieu!"  she  cried;  "  to  be  banished  from  there 
would  surely  be  like  entering  into  paradise  I" 

Perez  went  on.  He  took  a  morbid  pleasure  in 
the  telling  of  these  hideous  truths.  It  was  obvious 
that  he  had  long  suffered  mentally  under  the  ob- 
session that  some  day  some  such  horrors  might 
happen  to  himself.  Connected  with  it  all  by  family 
ties,  absolutely  unable  to  say  a  word  for  many 
years,  now,  under  the  sweet  skies  of  heaven,  in 
the  calm  and  splendid  night,  he  was  disemburden- 
ing  himself  of  that  which  had  been  pent  within 
him  for  so  long. 

He  seemed  impatient  of  interruption,  anxious 
to  say  more.  .  .  . 

"  Ah,"  he  whispered,  "  but  the  Tormento  di 
Toca,  that  is  the  worst,  that  would  frighten  me 
more  than  all — that,  the  Chafing-dish,  and  the 
Water-Cure.  The  Tormento  di  Toca  is  that  the 
torturer — that  fellow  down  there  with  the  sailors 
has  doubtless  performed  it  full  many  a  time — the 
torturer  throws  over  the  victim's  mouth  and  nos- 
trils a  thin  cloth,  so  that  he  is  scarce  able  to  breathe 


260  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

through  it,  and  in  the  meanwhile  a  small  stream 
of  water,  like  a  thread,  not  drop  by  drop,  falls 
from  on  high  upon  the  mouth  of  the  person  lying 
in  this  miserable  condition,  and  so  easily  sinks  down 
the  thin  cloth  to  the  bottom  of  his  throat,  so  that 
there  is  no  possibility  of  breathing,  the  mouth 
being  stopped  with  water,  and  his  nostrils  with 
the  cloth,  so  that  the  poor  wretch  is  in  the  same 
agony  as  persons  ready  to  die,  and  breathing  out 
their  last.  When  the  cloth  is  drawn  out  of  his 
throat,  as  it  often  is,  that  he  may  answer  to  the 
questions,  it  is  all  wet  with  water  and  blood,  and 
is  like  pulling  his  bowels  through  his  mouth." 

"What  is  the  Chafing-dish?"  Madame  La 
Motte  asked  thinly. 

"  They  order  a  large  iron  chafing-dish  full  of 
lighted  charcoal  to  be  brought  in  and  held  close 
to  the  soles  of  the  tortured  person's  feet,  greased 
over  with  lard,  so  that  the  heat  of  the  fire  may 
more  quickly  pierce  through  them.  And  as  for  the 
Water-Cure,  it  was  done  to  William  Lithgow,  an 
Englishman,  Senor,  upon  whom  my  brother  saw  it 
performed.  He  was  taken  up  as  a  spy  in  Malaga, 
and  was  exposed  to  most  cruel  torments  as  an 
heretic.  He  was  condemned  in  the  beginning  of 
Lent  to  suffer  the  night  following  eleven  most  cruel 
torments,  and  after  Easter  to  be  carried  privately 
to  Granada,  there  to  be  burned  at  midnight,  and 
his  ashes  to  be  scattered  into  the  air.  When  night 
came  on  his  fetters  were  taken  off.  Then  he  was 
Stripped  naked,  put  upon  his  knees,  and  his  head 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     261 

lifted  up  by  force,  after  which,  opening  his  mouth 
with  iron  instruments,  they  filled  his  belly  with 
water  till  it  came  out  of  his  jaws.  Then  they  tied 
a  rope  hard  about  his  neck,  and  in  this  condition 
rolled  him  seven  times  the  whole  length  of  the 
room,  till  he  almost  quite  strangled.  After  this 
they  tied  a  small  cord  about  both  his  great  toes, 
and  hung  him  up  thereby  with  his  head  down,  let- 
ting him  remain  in  this  condition  till  the  water  dis- 
charged out  of  his  mouth,  so  that  he  was  laid  on 
the  ground  as  just  dead,  and  had  his  irons  put  on 
him  again." 

"Is  this  true,  Senor?"  Commendone  asked  in 
a  low  voice;  but  even  while  he  asked  it  he  knew 
how  true  it  was — had  he  not  seen  Dr.  Taylor 
beaten  to  the  stake? 

'  True,  Senor?  "  the  little  man  said.  "  You  do 
not  doubt  my  word?  I  see  you  do  not.  It  was 
but  a  natural  expression.  You  are  fortunate  to  be 
a  citizen  of  England — a  citizen  of  no  mean  coun- 
try— but  still,  as  I  have  heard,  now  that  His  Most 
Catholic  Majesty  is  wedded  to  your  kingdom  there 
are  many  burnings." 

"  At  any  rate,"  Johnnie  answered  hotly,  "  we 
have  no  Holy  Office." 

"  Aye,  but  you  will,  Senor,  you  will!  if  the 
Queen  Maria  liveth  long  enough,  for  they  tell  me 
she  is  sickly,  and  not  like  to  make  a  goodly  age. 
But  still,  to  come  from  England  is  most  deadly 
unwise,  and  I  cannot  think  why  a  caballero  should 
care  to  do  so." 


262  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Johnnie  did  not  answer  him  for  a  moment.  He 
knew  very  well  why  he  had  cared,  or  dared,  to  do 
so.  He  looked  at  Madame  La  Motte  with  a  grim 
little  smile. 

The  woman  took  him  on  the  instant. 

"  A  chevalier,  such  as  Monsieur  here,  hath  his 
own  reasons  for  where  he  goes  and  what  he  does," 
she  said.  "  Take  not  upon  you,  Monsieur  Perez, 
to  enquire  too  much  ..." 

Johnnie  stopped  her  with  a  sudden  exclamation. 

"  But  touching  the  Holy  Office,  Senor,"  he  said, 
"  what  you  have  told  me  is  all  very  well.  I  am  a 
good  Catholic,  I  trust  and  hope;  but  surely  these 
circumstances  are  very  occasional.  You  describe 
things  which  .have  doubtless  happened,  but  not 
things  which  happen  every  day.  It  is  impossible 
to  believe  that  this  is  a  system." 

"  Think  you  so?  "  said  the  little  man.  "  Then 
I  will  very  soon  disabuse  you  of  any  such  idea.  I 
have  papers  in  my  mails,  papers  of  my  brother's, 
which — why,  who  comes  here?  " 

His  voice  died  away  into  silence,  as  round  the 
other  side  of  the  wooden  tower  of  the  forecastle — 
with  which  all  big  merchantmen  were  provided  in 
those  days  for  defence  against  the  enterprise  of 
pirates — a  black  shadow,  followed  by  a  short,  thick- 
set form,  came  into  their  view. 

Johnnie  recognised  Hull. 

"  I  thought  you  had  been  asleep,"  he  said, 
"  but  thou  art  very  welcome.  We  are  talking  of 
grave  matters  dealing  with  the  foreign  parts  to 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     263 

which  we  go,  and  the  Sefior  Don  here  hath  been 
telling  us  much.  Still,  thou  wouldst  not  have  under- 
stood hadst  thou  been  with  us,  for  Don  Perez 
speaks  naught  but  the  Spanish  and  the  French." 

The  little  Spaniard,  standing  up  against  the  bul- 
warks, looked  uneasily  towards  Commendone  and 
his  servant,  comprehending  nothing  of  what  was 
said. 

'This  man  is  safe?"  he  asked  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"  Safe !  "  Johnnie  answered.  "  This  is  my 
faithful  servant,  who  would  die  for  me  and  the  lady 
who  is  sleeping  below." 

A  freakish  humour  possessed  him,  a  bitter,  freak- 
ish humour,  in  this  fantastic,  brilliant  moonlight, 
this  ironic  comedy  upon  the  southern-growing 
seas. 

'  Take  him  by  the  hand,  Senor,"  he  said  in 
Spanish,  "  take  him  by  his  great,  strong  right  hand, 
for  I'll  wager  you  will  not  easily  shake  a  hand  so 
honest  in  the  dominions  of  the  King  of  Spain  to 
which  we  sail." 

The  little  man  looked  round  him  as  if  in  fear. 
There  was  an  obvious  suggestion  in  his  eyes  and 
face  that  he  was  somehow  trapped. 

"  Hold  out  thy  hand,  John  Hull,  and  shake  that 
of  this  honest  gentleman,"  Johnnie  said. 

The  big  brown  hand  of  the  Englishman  went 
out,  the  little  yellow  fingers  of  the  Spaniard  ad- 
vanced tentatively  towards  it. 

They  shook  hands. 


264  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Johnnie  watched  it  with  amusement.  These 
dreadful  stories  of  unthinkable  cruelty  had  stirred 
up  something  within  him.  He  was  not  cruel,  but 
very  tender-hearted,  yet  this  little  play  upon  the 
doubting  Spaniard  was  welcome  and  fitted  in  with 
his  mood. 

Then  he  saw  an  astonishing  thing,  and  one 
which  he  could  not  explain. 

The  two  men,  the  huge,  squat  John  Hull  of 
Suffolk,  the  little  weazened  gentleman  from  Lisbon, 
shook  hands,  looked  at  each  other  earnestly  in  the 
face,  and  then,  wonder  of  wonders,  linked  arms, 
turned  their  backs  upon  Johnnie  and  the  sleepy  old 
Frenchwoman  by  the  carronade,  and  spoke  ear- 
nestly to  each  other  for  a  moment. 

Their  forms  were  silhouetted  against  the  silver 
sea.  There  was  an  inexplicable  motion  of  arms, 
a  word  whispered  and  a  word  exchanged,  and  then 
Don  Perez  wheeled  round. 

In  the  moonlight  and  the  glimmer  from  the 
lantern  on  the  forecastle,  Johnnie  saw  that  his  face, 
which  had  been  twitching  with  anxiety,  was  now 
absolutely  at  rest.  It  was  radiant  even,  excited, 
pleased — it  wore  the  aspect  of  one  alone  among 
enemies  who  had  found  a  friend. 

"  'Tis  all  right,  Sefior,"  Perez  said.  "  I  will 
go  and  fetch  you  the  papers  of  which  I  spoke. 
You  may  command  me  in  any  way  now.  You 
are  not  yourself — by  any  chance  ..." 

John  Hull  shook  his  head  violently,  and  the 
little  Spaniard  skipped  away  with  a  chuckle. 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     265 

;' What  is  this?"  John  Commendone  asked. 
"  How  have  you  made  quick  friends  with  the 
Don?  What  is't — art  magic,  or  what?" 

'Tis  nothing,  sir,"  Hull  answered,  with  some 
embarrassment,  "  'tis  but  the  Craft." 

"The  Craft?"  Johnnie  asked.  "And  what 
may  that  be?  " 

"  We're  brethren,  this  man  and  I,"  Hull  an- 
swered; "we're  of  the  Freemasons,  and  that  is 
why,  master." 

Johnnie  nodded.  He  said  no  more.  The  whole 
thing  was  inexplicable  to  him.  He  knew,  of  course, 
of  the  Freemasons,  that  such  a  society  existed,  but 
no  evidence  of  it  had  ever  come  to  his  knowledge 
before  this  night.  The  persecution  of  Freemasonry 
which  was  to  ensue  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign 
was  not  yet,  and  the  Brethren  were  a  very  hidden 
people  in  1555. 

There  was  a  patter  of  feet  upon  the  ladder  lead- 
ing up  to  the  forecastle-deck.  Perez  appeared 
again  with  a  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand. 

"  Now,  then,  Serior,"  he  said,  "  you  shall  see 
if  this  of  which  I  have  told  you  is  a  system  or  is 
not.  These  are  documents,  forms,  belonging  to 
my  brother's  business  as  Notary  of  the  Holy  Office. 
Thus  thou  wilt  see." 

He  handed  a  piece  of  parchment,  printed  parch- 
ment, to  Commendone. 

Johnnie  held  it  up  under  the  light  of  the  lantern, 
and  read  it,  with  a  chilling  of  the  blood. 

It  was    "  The   Proper   Form  of  Torture   for 


266  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

Women,"  and  it  was  one  of  many  forms  left  blank 
for  convenience  to  record  the  various  steps. 

As  he  glanced  through  it,  his  lips  grew  dry,  his 
eyes,  straining  in  the  half-sufficient  light,  seemed  to 
burn. 

There  was  something  peculiarly  terrible  in  the 
very  omission  of  a  special  name,  and  the  conse- 
quent thought  of  the  number  of  wretches  whose 
vain  words  and  torments  had  been  recorded  upon 
forms  like  this — and  were  yet  to  be  recorded — 
froze  the  young  man  into  a  still  figure  of  horror 
and  of  silence. 

And  this  is  what  he  read: 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  orders  would 
be  given  to  strip  her.  She  said,  etc.  She  was  com- 
manded to  be  stripped  naked. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  orders  would 
be  given  to  cut  off  her  hair.  She  said,  etc. 

"  Orders  were  given  to  cut  of  her  hair;  and 
when  it  was  taken  of  she  was  examined  by  the  doc- 
tor and  surgeon,  who  said  there  was  not  any  objec- 
tion to  her  being  put  to  the  torture. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth  or  she  would  be 
commanded  to  mount  the  rack.  She  said,  etc. 

"  She  was  commanded  to  mount,  and  she  said, 
etc. 

"She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  her  body 
would  be  bound.  She  said,  etc.  She  was  ordered 
to  be  bound. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or,  if  not,  they 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     267 

would  order  her  right  foot  to  be  made  fast  for  the 
trampazo.  She  said,  etc.  They  commanded  it  to 
be  made  fast. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
command  her  left  foot  to  be  made  fast  for  the 
trampazo.  She  said,  etc.  They  commanded  it  to 
be  made  fast.  She  said,  etc.  It  was  ordered  to 
be  done. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
order  the  binding  of  the  right  arm  to  be  stretched. 
She  said,  etc.  It  was  commanded  to  be  done.  And 
the  same  with  the  left  arm.  It  was  ordered  to  be 
executed. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
order  the  fleshy  part  of  her  right  arm  to  be  made 
fast  for  the  garrote.  She  said,  etc.  It  was  or- 
dered to  be  made  fast. 

"  And  by  the  said  lord  inquisitor,  it  was  repeated 
to  her  many  times,  that  she  should  tell  the  truth, 
and  not  let  herself  be  brought  into  so  great  tor- 
ment; and  the  physician  and  surgeon  were  called  in, 
who  said,  etc.  And  the  criminal,  etc.  And  orders 
were  given  to  make  it  fast. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
order  the  first  turn  of  mancuerda.  She  said,  etc. 
It  was  commanded  to  be  done. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
command  the  garrote  to  be  applied  again  to  the 
right  arm.  She  said,  etc.  It  was  ordered  to  be 
done. 

"She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 


268  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

order  the  second  turn  of  mancuerda.  She  said,  etc. 
It  was  commanded  to  be  done. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
order  the  garrote  to  be  applied  again  to  the  left 
arm.  She  said,  etc.  It  was  ordered  to  be  done. 

"  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
order  the  third  turn  of  mancuerda.  She  said,  etc. 
It  was  commanded  to  be  done. 

(<  She  was  told  to  tell  the  truth,  or  they  would 
order  the  trampazo  to  be  laid  on  the  right  foot. 
She  said,  etc.  It  was  commanded  to  be  done. 

"  For  women  you  do  not  go  beyond  this." 

Johnnie  finished  his  reading.  Then  he  tore  up 
into  four  pieces  and  flung  it  out  upon  the  star- 
board bow. 

The  yellow  parchment  fluttered  over  Madame 
La  Motte's  head  like  great  moonlit  moths. 

Then  he  turned  and  stared  at  Don  Pedro,  al- 
most as  if  he  would  have  sprung  at  him. 

"  'Tis  nothing  of  mine,  Serior,"  the  little  man 
said.  "  You  asked  me  to  tell  you,  and  that  I  have 
done.  I  am  no  enemy  of  yours,  so  look  not  at  me 
in  that  way.  Here  "  —he  put  his  hand  out  and 
touched  John  Hull — "  here  I  have  a  very  worthy 
brother,  eke  a  Master  of  mine,  who  will  answer 
for  me  in  all  that  I  do." 

The  old  Frenchwoman  began  to  gather  her  vast 
bulk  together  to  descend  into  the  cabin  for  sleep. 

Johnnie  helped  her  to  her  feet,  and  as  he  did 
so  a  sweet  tenor  voice  shivered  out  beneath  the 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     269 

bellying  sails,  and  there  was  the  thrid  of  a  lute  ac- 
companying it: 

"  I  sail,  I  sail  the  Spanish  seas, 

Hey  ho,  in  the  sun  and  the  cloud 
To  bring  fair  ladies 
Wool  to  Cadiz, 

To  deck  their  bodies  that  are  so  proud, 
In  the  ship  of  St.  James  a  mariner  /"  .  .  . 

Suddenly  the  voice  of  the  singer  ceased,  shut  off 
into  silence. 

There  was  a  half-frightened  shout,  a  flapping  of 
the  sails  as  the  square-rigged  ship  fell  out  of  the 
night  wind  for  a  moment,  and  then  a  clamour  of 
loud  voices. 

"  Over  the  side !  Over  the  side !  The  man 
from  Lisbon's  gone." 

Johnnie  had  jumped  to  the  port  taffrail  at  the 
noise,  and  he  saw  what  had  happened.  He  saw 
the  whole  of  it  quite  distinctly.  A  long,  lithe 
figure  had  been  balancing  itself  upon  the  bulwarks, 
giving  its  body  to  the  gentle  motion  of  the  ship. 

Suddenly  it  fell  backwards,  there  was  a  resound- 
ing splash  in  the  quiet  sea,  and  something  black 
was  struggling  and  threshing  in  a  pool  of  silver 
water.  From  the  sea  came  a  loud  cry — "  Socorro! 
Socorro  !  " 

From  the  time  the  splash  was  heard  and  the  cry 
came  up  to  the  forecastle  the  ship  had  slipped  a 
hundred  yards  through  the  still  waters. 

Johnnie  jumped  up  upon  the  bulwarks,  held  his 
hands  above  his  head  for  a  moment,  judged  his 


270  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

distance — ships  were  not  high  out  of  the  water  in 
that  day — and  dived  into  the  phosphorescent  sea. 

He  was  lightly  clad,  and  he  swam  strongly,  with 
the  long  left-arm  overhand  stroke — conquering  an 
element  with  joy  in  the  doing  of  it — glad  to  be  in 
wild  and  furious  action,  happy  to  throw  off  the 
oppression  of  the  dreadful  things  which  the  little 
Spaniard  had  droned  upon  the  deck.  He  got  up  to 
the  man  easily  enough,  circled  round  him,  as  he 
rose  splashing  for  the  third  time,  and  caught  him 
under  the  arm-pits,  lying  on  his  back  with  the  other 
above  him. 

The  man  began  to  struggle,  trying  to  turn  and 
grip. 

Johnnie  raised  his  head  a  little  from  the  water, 
sinking  as  he  did  so,  and  pulling  down  the  other 
also,  and  shouted  a  Spanish  curse  into  his  ear. 

"Be  quiet,"  he  said;  "lie  still!  If  you  don't 
I'll  drown  you !  " 

Commendone  was  a  good  swimmer.  He  had 
swam  and  dived  in  the  lake  at  Commendone  since 
he  was  a  boy.  He  knew  now  exactly  what  to  do, 
and  his  voice,  though  half-strangled  with  the  salt 
water,  and  his  grip  of  the  drowning  man's  arm- 
pits had  their  effect. 

There  was  a  half-choked,  "Si,  Senor,"  and  in 
twenty  to  thirty  seconds  Johnnie  lay  back  in  the 
warm  water  of  the  Atlantic,  knowing  that  for  a 
few  minutes,  at  any  rate,  he  could  support  the 
man  he  had  come  to  save. 

It  was  curious  that  at  this  moment  he  felt  no 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     27 1 

fear  or  alarm  whatever.  His  whole  mind  was 
directed  towards  one  thing — that  the  man  he  had 
dived  to  rescue  would  keep  still.  His  mouth  and 
nose  were  just  out  of  the  water,  when  suddenly 
there  came  into  his  mind  the  catch  of  an  old  song. 

He  heard  again  the  high,  delicate  notes  of  the 
Queen's  lute — "  Time  hath  to  siluer  turn'd."  .  .  . 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  he  even  laughed 
with  pleasure  at  the  memory. 

As  that  was  heard,  a  strong,  lusty  voice  came  to 
him. 

"  I'm  here,  master,  I'm  here !  We  shall  not  be 
long  now.  Ah — ah-h-h  !  " 

Hull,  blowing  like  a  grampus,  had  swam  up  to 
them. 

"  I'll  take  him,  master,"  he  said;  "  do  you  rest 
for  a  moment.  They'll  have  us  out  of  this  'fore 
long." 

There  were  no  life-belts  invented  in  those  days, 
and  to  lower  a  boat  from  the  ship  was  long  in 
doing.  But  the  St.  lago  was  brought  up  with  all 
sails  standing,  the  boat  at  the  stern  was  let  down 
most  gingerly  into  the  sea,  and  four  mariners  rowed 
towards  the  swimming  men.  It  was  near  twenty 
minutes  before  Hull  and  Commendone  heard  the 
chunk  of  the  oars  in  the  rowlocks.  But  they  heard 
it  at  last.  The  tub-like  galley  shadowed  them, 
there  was  a  loud  cry  of  welcome  and  relief,  and 
then  the  two  men,  still  grasping  the  inert  figure  of 
him  who  had  fallen  overboard,  caught  hold  of  the 
stern  of  the  boat.  Willing  hands  hauled  the  half- 


272  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

drowned  man  into  the  boat.  Johnnie  and  Hull 
clambered  over  the  broad  stern,  sat  down  amid- 
ships, and  shook  themselves. 

The  moonlight  was  still  extraordinarily  power- 
ful, and  gave  a  fallen  day  to  this  southern  world. 

As  Commendone  shot  the  water  out  of  his  ears, 
he  looked  upon  the  limp,  prone  figure  of  the  man 
he  had  rescued. 

"Dame!"  he  cried;  "it  is  the  torturer  that 
we've  been  overboard  for.  Pity  we  didn't  let  him 
drown." 

John  Hull  had  turned  the  figure  of  the  Spaniard 
upon  its  stomach  and  was  working  vigorously  at  the 
arms,  using  them  like  pump-handles,  as  the  sailors 
got  their  oars  into  the  rowlocks  again,  and  pulled 
back  towards  the  shivering,  silver  ship  near  quarter 
of  a  mile  away. 

"  I'll  bring  the  life  back  to  him,  master,"  said 
John  Hull.  "  He's  warm  now — there !  He's 
vomited  a  pint  or  more  of  sea-water  as  I  speak." 

"  I  doubt  he  was  worth  saving,"  Johnnie  said 
in  a  low  voice  to  his  servant's  ear.  "  Still,  he  is 
saved,  and  I  suppose  a  man  like  this  hath  a  soul?  " 

Hull  looked  at  Commendone  in  surprise.  He 
knew  nothing  about  the  man  they  had  rescued;  he 
could  not  understand  why  his  master  spoke  in  this 
way. 

But  with  his  usual  dog-like  fidelity  he  nodded  an 
assent,  though  he  did  not  cease  the  pumping  mo- 
tion of  the  half-drowned  man's  arms. 

"  Perhaps  he  hath  no  soul,  master,"  Hull  said, 


"  MISERICORDIA  ET  JUSTITIA  "     273 

"  you  know  better  than  I.  At  any  rate,  we  have 
got  him  out  of  this  here  sea,  and  so  praise  God 
Who  hath  given  us  the  sturdiness  to  do  it." 

Commendone  looked  at  his  henchman  and  then 
at  the  slowly  reviving  Spaniard. 

"  Amen,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK 

"  SING  to  us,  Johnnie." 

"Mais  oui,  chantez,  Monsieur,"  said  Madame 
La  Motte. 

Johnnie  took  up  a  chitarrone,  the  archlute,  a 
large,  double-necked  Spanish  instrument,  which  lay 
upon  a  marble  table  by  his  side  in  the  courtyard. 

He  looked  up  into  the  sky,  the  painted  sunset 
sky  of  Spain,  as  if  to  find  some  inspiration  there. 

The  hum  of  Seville  came  to  them  in  an  almost 
organ-like  harmony.  Bells  were  tolling  from  the 
cathedral  and  the  innumerable  churches;  pigeons 
were  wheeling  round  the  domes  and  spires;  occa- 
sionally a  faint  burst  of  music  reached  them  where 
they  sat. 

The  young  man  looked  gravely  at  the  two 
women.  His  face  at  this  moment  was  singularly 
tranquil  and  refined.  He  was  dressed  with  scrupu- 
lous care — the  long  journey  over,  his  natural  habits 
resumed.  He  had  all  the  air  and  grace  of  a  gallant 
in  a  Court. 

He  bowed  to  Madame  La  Motte  and  to  his 
sweetheart,  smiling  gently  at  them. 

"  By  your  patience,  ladies,"  he  said,  "  I  will 
make  endeavour  to  improvise  for  you  upon  a  theme. 

274 


THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK    275 

We  have  spent  this  day  in  seeing  beauties  such  as 
sure  I  never  thought  to  see  with  my  mortal  eyes. 
We  are  in  the  land  of  colour,  of  sweet  odours;  the 
balmy  smells  of  nard  and  cassia  are  flung  about  the 
cedarn  alleys  where  we  walk.  We  have  sucked  the 
liquid  air  in  a  veritable  garden  of  the  Hesperides, 
and,  indeed,  I  looked  to  see  the  three  fair  daughters 
of  Hesperus  along  those  crisped  shades  and  bowers. 
And  we  have  seen  also"— his  voice  was  almost 
dreaming  as  he  spoke — "  the  greatest  church  e'er 
built  to  God's  glory  by  the  hand  of  man.  'Tis 
indeed  a  mountain  scooped  out,  a  valley  turned 
upsides.  The  towers  of  the  Abbey  Church  at 
Westminster  might  walk  erect  in  the  middle  nave; 
there  are  pillars  with  the  girth  of  towers,  and 
which  appear  so  slender  that  they  make  one  shud- 
der as  they  rise  from  out  the  ground  or  depend 
them  from  the  gloomy  roof  like  stalactites  in  the 
cave  of  a  giant." 

Madame  La  Motte  nodded,  purred,  and  mur- 
mured to  herself.  The  whimsical  and  studied 
Court  language  did  not  now  fall  upon  her  ears  for 
the  first  time.  In  the  fashion  of  that  age  all  men 
of  culture  and  position  learnt  to  talk  in  this  fashion 
upon  occasion,  with  classic  allusion  and  in  graceful 
prose. 

But  to  sweet  Elizabeth  it  was  all  new  and  beauti- 
ful, and  as  she  gazed  at  her  lover  her  eyes  were 
liquid  with  caressing  wonder,  her  lips  curved  into 
a  bow  of  pride  at  such  dear  eloquence. 

Johnnie  plucked  the  strings  of  the  chitarrone 


276  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

once  or  twice,  and  then,  his  eyes  half  closed,  began 
a  simple  improvisation  in  a  minor  key,  the  while 
he  lifted  his  voice  and  began  to  sing  his  ballad  of 
evening  colours: 

See!  limner  Phoebus  paints  the  sky 

Vermilion  and  gold 
And  doth  with  purple  tapestry 

The  waning  day  enfold. 
— The  royal,  lucent,  Tyrian  dye 
King  Philip  wore  in  Thessaly. 

The  Lord  of  Morning  now  doth  keep 

Herald  for  Lady  Night, 
Whose  robes  of  black  and  silver  sweep 

Before  his  tabard  bright. 
— All  silver-soft  and  sable-deep, 
As  when  she  brought  Endymion  sleep  ! 

Now  honey-coloured  Luna  she 

Hath  lit  her  lamp  on  high  ; 
And  paleth  in  her  Majestic 

The  twin  Dioscuri. 
— Set  in  gold-powdered  samite,  she — 
Queen  of  the  Night !     Queen  of  the  Sea  ! 

His  voice  faded  away  into  silence;  the  mellow 
tenor  ceasing  in  an  imperceptible  diminuendo  of 
sound. 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  Lizzie's  hand  stole 
out  and  touched  her  lover's.  "  Oh,  Johnnie,"  she 
said,  "  how  gracious !  And  did  those  lovely  words 
come  into  thy  head  as  thou  sangst  them?  " 

"  In  truth  they  did,  fairest  lady  of  evening,"  he 
answered,  bending  low  over  her  hand.  "  And 
sure  'twas  thy  dear  presence  that  sent  them  to  me, 


THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK    277 

the  musick  of  thy  voice  hath  breathed  a  soul  into 
this  lute." 

.  .  .  They  had  arrived  safely  in  Seville  the 
night  before,  spending  three  days  upon  the  journey 
from  Cadiz,  but  travelling  in  very  pleasant  and 
easy  fashion. 

Mr.  Mew,  the  mate  of  the  St.  lago,  had  busi- 
ness in  the  city,  and  while  the  vessel  was  discharg- 
ing its  cargo  at  Cadiz  he  went  up  to  Seville  and 
took  the  four  travellers  with  him  on  board  an 
alijador — a  long  barge  with  quarters  for  passen- 
gers, and  a  hold  for  cargo,  which  was  propelled 
partly  by  oars  in  the  narrower  reaches  of  the  river, 
but  principally  by  a  large  lug  sail. 

Don  Perez  had  remained  in  Cadiz,  but  the  tall 
and  sinister  young  fellow  whom  Hull  and  Johnnie 
had  rescued  from  the  Atlantic  came  in  the  barge 
also.  The  fugitives  from  England  had  little  to 
say  to  him,  knowing  what  he  was.  Alonso — which 
was  the  man's  name — had  been  profuse  in  his 
gratitude.  His  profuseness,  however,  had  been 
mingled  with  a  continuous  astonishment,  a  brutish 
wonder  which  was  quite  inexplicable  to  Elizabeth. 

"  He  seemeth,"  she  said  once  to  her  esquire,  "  to 
think  as  if  such  a  deed  of  daring  as  thou  didst  in 
thy  kindness  for  a  fellow-creature  in  peril  hath 
never  been  known  in  the  world  before !  " 

Madame  La  Motte  and  Commendone,  however, 
had  said  nothing.  They  knew  very  well  why  this 
poor  wretch,  who  gained  his  food  by  such  a  hideous 
calling,  was  amazed  at  his  rescue.  They  said  noth- 


278  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

ing  to  the  girl,  however,  dreading  that  she  should 
ever  have  an  inkling  of  what  the  man  was. 

On  the  voyage  to  Seville,  a  happy,  lazy  time 
under  the  bright  sun,  Johnnie  could  not  quite  un- 
derstand an  obvious  friendship  and  liking  which 
seemed  to  have  sprung  up  between  Alonso  and 
Mr.  Mew,  who  spoke  Spanish  very  adequately. 

"  I  cannot  understand,"  he  said  upon  one  occa- 
sion to  the  sturdy  man  from  the  Isle  of  Wight,  "  I 
cannot  understand,  sir,  how  you  that  are  an  English 
mariner  can  talk  and  consort  with  this  tool  of  hell." 

Mr.  Mew  looked  at  him  with  a  dry  smile. 
"  And  yet,  master,"  he  said  in  the  true  Hampshire 
idiom  and  drawl,  "  bless  your  heart,  you  jumped 
overboard  for  this  same  man !  " 

"The  case  is  different,"  Johnnie  said;  "'twas 
a  fellow-creature,  and  I  did  as  behoved  me.  But 
that  is  no  reason  to  be  friendly  with  such  a  wretch." 

"  Look  you,  Master  Commendone,"  said  Mr. 
Mew,  "  every  man  to  his  trade.  I  would  burn 
both  hands,  myself,  before  I'd  live  by  sworn  tor- 
turing. But,  then,  'tis  not  my  trade.  This  man's 
father  and  his  brother  have  been  doing  of  it  almost 
since  birth,  and  they  do  it — and  sure,  a  good  Catho- 
lic like  yourself,"  here  he  smiled  dryly,  "  cannot 
but  remember  that  'tis  done  under  the  shield  and 
order  of  Holy  Church!  The  damned  old  Pope 
hath  ordered  it." 

Johnnie  crossed  himself.  "  The  sovereign  Pon- 
tiff," he  said,  "  hath  established  the  Holy  Office 
for  punishment  of  heretics.  But  the  punishment  is 


THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK     279 

light  and  without  harshness  in  the  states  of  His 
Holiness.  In  Spain  'tis  a  matter  very  different. 
It  was  under  the  Holy  Father  Innocent  IV  that  this 
tribunal  was  created,  and  the  Holy  Office  in  Spain 
differed  in  no  wise  from  the  comparatively  in- 
nocuous  " 

"What  is  that,  master?    That  word?" 

"  It  meaneth  *  harmless,'  Master  Mew.  What 
was  I  saying?  Oh,  that  it  differed  nothing  at  all 
in  Spain  from  the  harmless  Council  which  was  to 
detect  heresy  and  reprove  it.  But  during  the  reign 
of  our  good  King  Edward  IV  the  Holy  Office  was 
changed  in  Spain.  The  Ebrews  were  plotting,  or 
said  to  be  plotting,  against  the  realm,  and  they  had 
come  to  much  wealth  and  power.  Pope  Sixtus 
made  many  protests,  but  the  right  of  appointing  in- 
quisitors and  directing  the  operation  of  the  Holy 
Office  in  Spain  was  reserved  to  the  Spanish  Crown. 
And  from  this  date,  Master  Mew,  Holy  Church 
at  any  rate  hath  disclaimed  to  be  responsible  for 
it.  That  was  then  and  is  now  the  true  feeling  of 
Rome.  'Tis  true  that  in  Spain  the  Church  tolerates 
the  Inquisition,  but  its  blood-stained  acts  are  from 
the  Crown  and  such  priests  as  are  ministers  of  the 
Crown." 

Father  Chilches  had  taught  Johnnie  his  history, 
truly  enough.  But  it  seemed  to  make  very  little 
impression  upon  the  mate. 

"  Art  a  gentleman,"  he  said,  "  and  know  doubt- 
less more  than  I,  but  such  peddling  with  words  and 
splicing  of  facts  are  not  to  my  mind.  The  damned 


280  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

old  Pope  say  I,  and  always  shall,  when  it's  safe  to 
speak !  But  the  pith  of  our  talk,  Master  Commen- 
done,  was  that  you  would  not  have  me  give  com- 
radeship with  this  Alonso.  I  see  not  your  point  of 
view.  He  is  of  his  time  and  must  do  his  duty." 

The  mate  snapped  a  tarry  thumb  and  finger  with 
a  tolerant  smile.  "  You've  saved  him,  so  that  he 
may  go  on  with  his  torturin',"  he  said,  "  and  I  like 
to  talk  with  him  because  I  find  him  a  good  fellow, 
and  that  is  all  about  it,  Master  Commendone." 

Johnnie  had  not  got  much  small  change  from 
his  conference  with  the  mate,  but  when  they  ar- 
rived at  Seville,  he  saw  him  and  the  man  called 
Alonso  no  more,  and  his  mind  was  directed  upon 
very  other  things. 

They  arrived  at  the  city  late  at  night,  and  their 
mails  were  taken  to  the  great  inn  of  Seville  known 
as  the  Posada  de  las  Munecas,  or  house  of  puppets, 
so  called  from  the  fact  that  in  days  gone  by,  at 
the  great  annual  Seville  fair,  a  famous  performance 
of  marionettes  had  taken  place  in  front  of  it. 

The  Posada  was  an  old  Moorish  palace,  as 
beautiful  under  the  sunlight  as  an  Oriental  song, 
and  when  they  rose  in  the  morning  and  Johnnie  had 
despatched  a  serving-man  to  find  if  Don  Jose  Sene- 
bria  was  in  residence,  he  and  his  companions 
wakened  to  the  realisation  of  a  loveliness  of  which 
they  had  never  dreamed. 

The  sky  was  like  a  great  hollow  turquoise;  the 
sun  beat  down  upon  the  Pearl  of  Andalusia  with 
limpid  glory,  and  played  perpetually  upon  the 


THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK     281 

white  and  painted  walls.  The  orange  trees,  only 
introduced  into  Spain  some  five-and-twenty  years 
before  from  Asia,  were  globed  with  their  golden 
fruit  among  the  dark,  jade-like  leaves  of  polished 
green;  feathery  palms  with  their  mailed  trunks 
rose  up  to  cut  the  blue,  and  on  every  side  buildings 
which  glowed  like  immense  jewels  were  set  to  greet 
the  unaccustomed  northern  eye.  The  Posada  was 
a  blaze  of  colour,  half  Moorish,  half  Gothic,  fan- 
tastic and  alluring  as  a  rare  dream. 

Johnnie  heard  early  in  the  morning  that  Don 
Jose  would  be  away  for  two  days,  having  travelled 
to  his  vineyards  beyond  the  old  Roman  village  of 
Sancios.  The  day  therefore,  and  the  morrow  also, 
was  left  to  them  for  sight-seeing.  Both  he  and 
Elizabeth  had  in  part  forgotten  the  cloud  of  dis- 
tress under  which  they  had  left  their  native  land. 
The  child  often  talked  to  him  of  her  father,  making 
many  half-shy  confidences  about  her  happy  life  at 
Hadley,  telling  him  constantly  of  that  brave  and 
stalwart  gentleman.  But  she  now  accepted  all  that 
had  happened  with  the  perfect  innocence  and  trust- 
fulness of  youth.  Upon  her  white  and  stainless 
mind  what  she  had  undergone  had  left  but  little 
trace.  Even  now  she  only  half  realised  her  ravish- 
ment to  the  house  with  the  red  door,  and  that  Ma- 
dame La  Motte  was  not  a  pattern  of  kindness, 
discretion,  and  fine  feeling  would  never  have 
entered  Lizzie's  simple  mind.  She  was  going  to  be 
married  to  Johnnie ! — it  was  to  be  arranged  almost 
at  once — and  then  she  knew  that  there  need  be  no 


282  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

more  trouble,  no  weariness,  no  further  searchings 
of  heart.  She  and  Johnnie  would  be  together  for 
ever  and  ever,  and  that  was  all  that  mattered ! 

Indeed,  under  these  bright  skies,  among  the  gay, 
good-humoured,  and  heedless  people  of  Seville,  it 
would  have  been  very  difficult  for  much  older  and 
more  world-weary  people  than  this  young  man  and 
maid  to  be  sad  or  apprehensive. 

It  had  all  been  a  feast,  a  never-ending  feast  for 
eye  and  ear.  They  had  stood  before  pictures  which 
were  world-famous — they  had  seen  that  marvellous 
allegory  in  pigment,  where  "  a  hand  holds  a  pair  of 
scales,  in  which  the  sins  of  the  world — set  forth  by 
bats,  peacocks,  serpents,  and  other  emblems — are 
weighed  against  the  emblems  of  the  Passion  of 
Christ  our  Lord;  and  eke  in  the  same  frame,  which 
is  thought  to  be  the  finer  composition,  Death, 
with  a  coffin  under  one  arm,  is  about  to  extinguish 
a  taper,  which  lighteth  a  table  besprent  with 
crowns,  jewels,  and  all  the  gewgaws  of  this  earthly 
pomp.  '  In  Ictu  Oculi '  are  the  words  which  circle 
the  taper's  gleaming  light,  while  set  upon  the 
ground  resteth  a  coffin  open,  the  corpse  within  being 
dimly  revealed." 

They  had  walked  through  the  long  colonnade 
in  the  palace  of  the  Alcazar,  to  the  baths  of  Maria 
de  Padilla,  the  lovely  mistress  of  Pedro  the  Cruel, 
"  at  the  Court  of  whom  it  was  esteemed  a  mark 
of  gallantry  and  loyalty  to  drink  the  waters  of 
the  bath  after  that  Maria  had  performed  her  ablu- 
tions. Upon  a  day  observing  that  one  of  his 


THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK    283 

knights  refrained  from  this  act  of  homage,  the 
King  questioned  him,  and  elicited  the  reply,  '  I 
dare  not  drink  of  the  water,  Sire,  lest,  having  tasted 
the  sauce,  I  should  covet  the  partridge.'  ' 

All  these  things  they  had  done  together  in  their 
love  and  youth,  forgetting  all  else  but  the  incom- 
parable beauties  of  art  and  nature  which  sur- 
rounded them,  the  music  and  splendour  of  Love 
within  their  hearts. 

...   A  serving-man  came  through  the  patio. 

"  Puedo  cenar?  "  Johnnie  asked.  "  A  que  hora 
es  el  cenar?  " 

The  man  told  him  that  supper  was  ready  then, 
and  together  with  the  ladies  Johnnie  left  the  court- 
yard and  entered  the  long  comedor,  or  dining-hall, 
a  narrow  room  with  good  tapestries  upon  the  walls, 
and  a  ceiling  decorated  with  heads  of  warriors  and 
ladies  in  carved  and  painted  stucco. 

It  was  lit  by  candle,  and  supper  was  spread  for 
the  three  in  the  midde  of  one  great  table,  an  oasis 
of  fruit,  lights,  and  flowers. 

"  Este  es  un  vino  bueno,"  said  the  waiter  who 
stood  there. 

"  It  is  all  good  wine  in  Spain,"  Johnnie  answered, 
with  a  smile,  as  the  man  poured  out  borgona,  and 
another  brought  them  a  dish  of  grilled  salmon. 

They  lifted  their  glasses  to  each  other,  and  fell 
to  with  a  good  appetite.  Suddenly  Johnnie  stopped 
eating.  "  Where  is  John  Hull?  "  he  said.  "God 
forgive  me,  I  have  not  thought  of  him  for  hours." 

"  He  will  be  safe  enough,"  Madame  La.  Motte 


284  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

answered,  her  mouth  full  of  salmon  asado.  "  Mon 
Dieuf  but  this  fish  is  good!  Fear  not,  Monsieur, 
thy  serving-man  can  very  well  take  care  of  him- 
self." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Johnnie  replied,  though  with  a 
little  uneasiness. 

"But,  Johnnie,"  Elizabeth  said,  "Hull  told 
me  that  he  was  to  be  with  Master  Mew,  the  mate 
of  our  late  ship,  to  see  the  town  with  him,  so  all 
will  be  well." 

Johnnie  lifted  his  goblet  of  wine;  he  had  never 
felt  more  free,  careless,  and  happy  in  his 
life. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  is  to  this  sweet  and  hospitable 
land  of  Spain,  whither  we  have  come  through  long 
toils  and  dangers.  'Tis  our  Latium,  for  as  the 
grandest  of  all  poets,  Vergil  yclept,  hath  it,  '  Per 
varies  casus,  per  tot  discrimina  rerum,  tendimus  in 
Latium,  sedes  ubi  fata  quietas  ostendunt' ' 

"  And  what  may  that  mean,  Monsieur?  "  asked 
Madame  La  Motte,  pulling  the  botella  towards 
her.  "  My  Credo,  my  Paternoster,  and  my  Ave 
are  all  my  Latin." 

"  It  means,  Madame,"  Johnnie  answered,  "  that 
we  have  gone  through  many  troubles  and  trials, 
through  all  sorts  of  changes  in  affairs,  but  we  ap- 
proach towards  Latium,  which  the  poet  meaneth 
for  Imperial  Rome,  where  the  fates  will  let  us  live 
in  peace." 

"  In  peace !  "  Elizabeth  whispered. 

"  Aye,  sweetheart  mine,"   the  young  man  an- 


THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK     285 

swered;  "  we  have  won  to  peace  at  last.  Thou  and 
I  together!  " 

For  a  moment  or  two  they  were  all  silent,  and 
then  the  door  of  the  comedor  was  suddenly  opened, 
not  quietly,  as  for  the  entrance  of  a  serving-man, 
but  flung  open  widely  and  with  noise. 

They  all  turned  and  looked  towards  the  archway 
of  the  door. 

In  a  moment  more  six  or  seven  people  pressed 
into  the  room — people  dressed  in  black,  people 
whose  feet  made  no  noise  upon  the  floor. 

Ere  ever  any  of  them  at  the  table  realised  what 
was  happening,  they  found  themselves  gripped  by 
strong,  firm  hands,  though  there  was  never  a  word 
spoken. 

Before  he  could  reach  the  dagger  in  his  belt — 
for  he  was  not  wearing  his  sword — Johnnie's 
arms  were  bound  to  his  side,  and  he  was  held 
fast. 

It  was  all  done  with  strange  deftness  and  silence, 
Elizabeth  and  the  Frenchwoman  being  held  also, 
each  by  two  men,  though  their  arms  were  not 
bound. 

Johnnie  burst  out  in  indignant  English,  then, 
remembering  where  he  was,  changed  to  Spanish. 
"  In  God's  name,"  he  cried,  "  what  means  this 
outrage  upon  peaceable  and  quiet  folk?  " 

His  voice  was  loud  and  angry,  but  there  was  fear 
in  it  as  he  cried  out.  The  answer  came  from  a  tall 
figure  which  came  noiselessly  through  the  door, 
a  figure  in  a  cassock,  with  a  large  gold  cross  hung 


286  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

upon  its  breast,  and  followed  by  two  others  in  the 
dress  of  priests. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Commendone,  we  meet  again,"  came 
in  excellent  English,  as  the  man  removed  his  broad- 
brimmed  felt  hat. 

"  You  have  come  a  long  way  from  England, 
Mr.  Commendone,  you  and  your — friends.  But 
the  arm  of  the  King,  the  hand  of  the  Church, 
which  are  as  the  arm  of  God  Himself,  can  stretch 
swiftly  and  very  far." 

Johnnie's  face  grew  dead  white  as  he  heard  the 
well-remembered  voice  of  Father  Diego  Deza.  In 
a  flash  he  remembered  that  King  Philip's  con- 
fessor and  confidential  adviser  had  told  him  that 
he  was  to  leave  England  for  Spain  on  the  morning 
of  the  very  day  when  he  had  rescued  Elizabeth 
from  shame. 

His  voice  rattled  in  his  throat  and  came  hoarsely 
through  parched  lips.  He  made  one  effort,  though 
he  felt  that  it  was  hopeless. 

"  Don  Diego,"  he  said,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you  in  Spain  "•= — the  other  gave  a  nasty  little  laugh. 
"  Don  Diego,"  Johnnie  continued,  "  I  have  of- 
fended nothing  against  the  laws  of  England. 
What  means  this  capture  and  durance  of  myself  and 
my  companions?  " 

'  You  are  not  in  England  now,  Mr.  Commen- 
done," the  priest  replied;  "but  you  are  in  the 
dominion  of  His  Most  Catholic  Majesty;  you  are 
not  accused  of  any  crime  against  the  civil  law  of 
England  or  of  this  country,  but  I,  in  my  authority 


THE  SILENT  MEN  IN  BLACK     287 

as  Grand  Inquisitor  of  the  Holy  Office  in  Seville— 
to  do  which  duty  I  have  now  come  to  Spain — arrest 
you  and  your  companions  on  charges  which  will 
be  afterwards  disclosed  to  you. 

'  Take  them  away,"  he  said  in  Spanish  to  his 
officers. 

There  was  a  horrid  wail,  echoing  and  re-echoing 
through  the  long  room  and  beating  upon  the  ear- 
drums of  all  who  were  there.  .  .  . 

Madame  La  Motte  had  heard  all  that  the  priest 
had  said  in  English.  She  shrieked  and  shrieked 
again. 

"Ah-h-h!  C'est  vral  alors!  L' inquisition !  qui 
lance  la  mart!  " 

With  extraordinary  and  sudden  strength  she 
twisted  herself  away  from  the  two  sombre  figures 
which  held  her.  She  bent  forward  over  the  table, 
snatched  up  a  long  knife,  gripped  the  handle  firmly 
with  two  fat  white  hands,  and  plunged  it  into  her 
breast  to  the  hilt. 

For  quite  three  seconds  she  stood  upright.  Her 
face  of  horror  changed  into  a  wonder,  as  if  she 
was  surprised  at  what  she  had  done.  Then  she 
smiled  foolishly,  like  a  child  who  realises  that  it 
has  made  a  silly  mistake,  coughed  loudly  like  a 
man,  and  fell  in  heavy  death  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  THE  BOX 

"  Devant  1'Inquisition,  quand  on  vient  a  jube, 
Si  Ton  ne  soit  roti,  Ton  soil  au  moins  flambe." 

IT  was  not  light  that  pressed  upon  the  retina  of  the 
eye.  There  was  no  vibration  to  the  sensitive  lenses. 
It  was  a  sudden  vision  not  of  the  eye,  but  in  the 
memory-cells  of  the  brain  which  now  and  then  filled 
the  dreadful  blackness  with  a  fierce  radiance,  filled 
it  for  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a  second. 

And  then  all  was  dark  again. 

It  was  not  dark  with  the  darkness  that  ordinary 
men  know.  At  no  time,  in  all  probability,  has 
any  man  or  woman  escaped  a  long  sleepless  night 
in  a  darkened  room.  The  candle  is  out ;  the  silence 
begins  to  nibble  at  the  nerves;  there  is  no  sound 
but  the  uneasy  tossing  upon  the  bed.  It  seems,  one 
would  rather  say,  that  there  is  no  sound  save  only 
that  made  by  the  sufferer.  At  such  hours  comes  a 
dread  weariness  of  life,  a  restlessness  which  is  but 
the  physical  embroidery  upon  despair.  The  body 
itself  is  at  the  lowest  pitch  of  its  vitality.  Through 
the  haunted  chambers  of  the  mind  fantastic 
thoughts  chase  each  other,  and  evil  things — evil 
personalities  it  almost  seems — uncoil  themselves 
and  erect  their  heads. 

288 


IN  THE  BOX  289 

But  it  is  not  really  darkness,  not  really  despair, 
as  people  know  when  the  night  has  gone  and  dawn 
begins.  Nor  is  it  really  silence.  The  ear  becomes 
attuned  to  its  environment;  a  little  wind  moans 
round  the  house.  There  is  the  soft  patter  of  fall- 
ing rain — the  distant  moaning  of  the  sea. 

Furniture  creaks  as  the  temperature  changes; 
there  are  rustlings,  whispers,  unexplained  noises — 
the  night  is  indeed  full  of  sound. 

Nor  is  it  really  darkness,  as  the  mind  discovers 
towards  the  end  of  the  sick  and  restless  vigil.  The 
eye  also  is  attuned  to  that  which  limits  and  sur- 
rounds its  potentialities.  The  blinds  are  drawn,  but 
still  some  faint  mysterious  greyness  creeps  between 
them  and  the  window.  The  room,  then,  is  a  real 
room  still !  Over  there  is  the  long  mirror  which 
will  presently  begin  to  stir  and  reflect  the  birth- 
pangs  of  light.  That  squat,  black  monster,  which 
crouches  in  the  corner  of  the  dark,  will  grow  larger, 
and  become  only  the  wardrobe  after  all.  And  soon 
the  air  of  the  chamber  will  take  on  a  subtle  and  in- 
definable change.  It  will  have  a  new  savour,  it  will 
tell  that  far  down  in  the  under  world  the  sun  is 
moaning  and  muttering  in  the  last  throes  of  sleep. 
The  blackness  will  go.  Dim,  inchoate  nothingness 
will  change  to  wan  dove-coloured  light,  and  with 
the  first  chirpings  of  half-awakened  birds  the  case- 
ment will  show  "  a  slowly  glimmering  square," 
and  the  tortured  brain  will  sink  to  rest. 

Day  has  come!  There  is  no  longer  any  need 
for  fear.  The  nervous  pain,  more  terrible  than  all, 


290  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

has  gone.  The  heart  is  calmed,  the  brain  is  soothed, 
utter  prostration  and  despair  appears,  mercifully, 
a  thing  of  long  ago. 

Some  such  experience  as  this  all  modern  men 
have  endured.  To  John  Commendone,  in  the 
prison  of  the  Inquisition  where  he  had  been  put, 
no  such  alleviation  came. 

For  him  there  was  no  blessed  morning;  for  him 
the  darkness  was  that  awful  negation  of  light— 
of  physical  light — and  of  hope,  which  is  without 
remedy. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  it  had  been  since  he 
was  caught  up  suddenly  out  of  the  rich  room  where 
he  was  dining  with  his  love — dining  among  the 
scent  of  flowers,  with  the  echo  of  music  in  his  ears, 
his  whole  heart  suffused  with  thankfulness  and 
peace. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  it  had  been;  he 
only  remembered  the  hurried  progress  in  a  closed 
carriage  from  the  hotel  to  the  fortress  of  the 
,Triana  in  the  suburbs,  which  was  the  prison  and 
assize  of  the  Holy  Office. 

In  all  Europe  in  this  era  prisons  were  dark, 
damp  holes.  They  were  real  graves,  full  of  mould, 
animal  filth,  the  pest-breeding  smells.  It  was  the 
boast  of  the  Inquisition,  and  even  Llorente  speaks 
of  it,  that  the  prisons  were  "  well-arched,  light  and 
dry  rooms  where  the  prisoners  could  make  some 
movement." 

This  was  generally  true,  and  Commendone  had 
heard  of  it  from  Don  Perez. 


IN  THE  BOX  291 

It  was  not  true  in  his  case.  He  had  been  taken 
hurriedly  into  the  prison  as  night  fell,  marched 
silently  through  interminable  courtyards  and  pas- 
sage-ways— corridors  which  slanted  downwards, 
ever  downwards — until  in  a  dark  stone  passage, 
illuminated  only  by  the  torches  which  were  carried 
by  those  who  conducted  him,  he  had  come  to  a 
low  door,  heavily  studded  with  iron. 

This  had  been  opened  with  a  key.  The  wards 
of  the  lock  had  shot  back  with  a  well-oiled  and 
gentle  click.  He  had  bent  his  head  a  little  as 
they  pushed  him  into  the  living  tomb — a  box  of 
stone  five  feet  square  exactly.  He  was  nearly  six 
feet  in  height;  he  could  not  stand  erect;  he  could 
not  stretch  himself  at  full  length.  The  thing  was 
a  refinement  of  the  dreadful  "  little-ease  "  of  the 
Tower  of  London  and  many  other  secular  prisons 
where  wretches  were  tortured  for  a  week  before 
their  execution.  He  had  heard  of  places  like  them, 
but  he  realised  that  it  was  not  the  design  of  those 
who  had  him  fast  to  kill  him  yet.  He  knew  that 
he  must  undergo  an  infinity  of  mental  and  bodily 
torture  ere  ever  the  scarred  and  trembling  soul 
would  be  allowed  to  wing  its  way  from  the  still, 
broken  body. 

He  was  in  absolute,  complete  darkness,  buried  in 
a  box  of  stone. 

The  rayless  gloom  was  without  any  relief  what- 
ever; it  was  the  enclosing  sable  of  death  itself;  a 
pitchy  oblivion  that  lay  upon  him  like  a  solid 
weight,  a  thing  obscene  and  hopeless.  And  the 


292  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

silence  was  a  real  silence,  an  utter  stillness  such  as 
no  modern  man  evrer  knows— save  only  the  few 
demoniac  prisoners  in  the  cachot  noir  of  the  French 
convict  prisons  of  Noumea. 

Once  every  two  days — if  there  indeed  were  such 
things  as  days  and  hours  in  this  still  hell — the  door 
of  the  cell  was  noiselessly  opened.  There  was 
a  dim  red  glow  in  the  stone  corridor  without,  a 
pitcher  of  water,  some  black  bread,  and  every  now 
and  then  a  few  ripe  figs,  were  pushed  into  the  box. 

Then  a  clang,  the  oily  swish  of  the  bolts,  and 
another  eternity  of  silence. 

The  man's  brain  did  not  go.  It  was  too  soon 
for  that.  He  lay  a  fortnight — ten  thousand  years 
it  seemed  to  him — in  this  box  of  horror. 

He  was  not  to  die  yet.  He  was  not  even  to  lose 
his  mind;  of  that  he  was  perfectly  aware.  He  was 
no  ordinary  prisoner.  No  usual  fate  was  in  store 
for  him;  that  also  he  knew.  A  charge  of  heresy 
in  his  case  was  absurd.  No  witnesses  could  be 
brought  who,  speaking  truth,  could  condemn  him 
for  heresy.  But  what  Don  Perez  had  told  him 
was  now  easily  understood.  He  was  in  a  place 
where  there  was  no  appeal,  a  situation  with  no 
egress. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  in  his  mind 
that  a  dreadful  vengeance  was  to  be  taken  upon  him 
for  his  treatment  of  the  King  of  Spain.  The  Holy 
Office  was  a  royal  court  provided  with  ecclesiastical 
weapons.  Its  familiars  had  got  him  in  their  grip; 
he  was  to  die  the  death. 


IN  THE  BOX  293 

As  he  lay  motionless  day  after  day,  night  after 
night,  in  the  silence — the  hideous  silence  without 
light — the  walls  so  close,  pressing  on  him,  forbid- 
ding him  free  movement,  at  every  moment  seeming 
as  if  they  would  rush  together  and  crush  him  in 
this  night  of  Erebus,  he  began  to  have  visitors. 

Sometimes  a  sulphurous  radiance  would  fill  the 
place.  He  would  see  the  bowing,  mocking  figure 
of  King  Philip,  the  long  yellow  face  looking  down 
upon  him  with  a  malign  smile.  He  would  hear  a 
great  hoarse  voice,  and  a  little  woman  with  a 
shrivelled  face  and  covered  with  jewels,  would 
squeak  and  gibber  at  him.  Then,  with  a  clank 
of  armour,  and  a  sudden  fresh  smell  of  the  fields, 
Sir  Henry  Commendone  would  stand  there,  with  a 
"  How  like  you  this  life  of  the  pit,  Johnnie?  "... 
"  How  like  you  this  blackness,  my  son?  " 

Then  he  would  put  up  his  hands  and  press  these 
grisly  phantoms  out  of  the  dark.  He  would  press 
them  away  with  one  great  effort  of  the  will. 

They  would  go,  and  he  remained  trembling  in 
the  chill,  damp  negation  of  light,  which  was  so  far 
more  than  darkness.  He  would  grope  for  the 
pieces  of  his  miserable  food,  and  search  the  earthen 
pitcher  for  water. 

And  all  this,  these  tortures  beyond  belief,  be- 
yond understanding  of  the  ordinary  man,  were  but 
as  soft  couches  to  one  who  is  weary,  food  to  one  an- 
hungered, water  to  lips  parched  in  a  desert — com- 
pared with  the  deepest,  unutterable  descent  of  all. 

The  cold  and  stinking  blackness  which  held  him 


294  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

tight  as  a  fossil  in  a  bed  of  clay  was  not  the  worst. 
His  eyes  that  saw  nothing,  his  limbs  that  were  shot 
with  cramping  pain,  his  nostrils  and  stomach  that 
could  not  endure  this  uncleaned  cage,  were  a  tor- 
ture beyond  thinking. 

Many  a  time  he  thought  of  the  mercy  of  Bishop 
Bonner  and  Queen  Mary — the  mercy  that  let  a 
gentleman  ride  under  the  pleasant  skies  of  England 
to  a  twenty  minutes'  death — God !  these  were 
pleasant  tortures !  His  own  present  hopelessness, 
all  that  he  endured  in  body — why,  dear  God !  these 
were  but  pleasant  tortures  too,  things  to  bite  upon 
and  endure,  compared  with  the  Satanic  horror,  the 
icy  dread,  the  bitter,  hopeless  tears,  when  he 
thought  of  Elizabeth. 

He  had  long  since  ceased  praying  for  himself. 
It  mattered  little  or  nothing  what  happened  to  him. 
That  he  should  be  taken  out  to  torture  would  be  a 
relief,  a  happiness.  He  would  lie  in  the  rack  laugh- 
ing. They  could  fill  his  belly  with  water,  or  strain 
the  greasy  hempen  ropes  into  his  flesh,  and  still  he 
would  laugh  and  forgive  them — Dr.  Taylor  had 
forgiven  less  than  they  would  do  to  him,  he  would 
forgive  more  than  all  for  the  sake  of  Christ  and 
His  Maid-Mother.  How  easy  that  would  be !  To 
be  given  something  to  endure,  to  prove  himself  a 
man  and  a  Christian! 

But  to  forgive  them  for  what  they  might  be 
doing,  they  might  have  done,  to  his  dear  lady — 
how  could  he  forgive  that  to  these  bloodstained 
men? 


IN  THE  BOX  295 

Through  all  the  icy  hours  he  thought  of  one 
thing,  until  his  own  pains  vanished  to  nothingness. 

Perchance,  and  the  dreadful  uncertainty  in  his 
utter  impotence  and  silence  swung  like  a  bell  in  his 
brain,  and  cut  through  his  soul  like  the  swinging 
pendola  which  they  said  the  familiars  of  the  Holy 
Office  used,  Elizabeth  had  already  suffered  un- 
speakable things. 

He  saw  again  a  pair  of  hands — cruel  hands — 
hands  with  thick  thumbs.  Had  hands  like  these 
grasped  and  twisted  the  white  limbs  of  the  girl  he 
loved?  Divorced  from  him,  helpless,  away  from 
any  comfort,  any  kind  voice,  was  it  not  true — was 
it  true  ? — that  already  his  sweetheart  had  been  tor- 
tured to  her  death? 

He  had  tried  over  and  over  again  to  pray  for 
Elizabeth,  to  call  to  the  seat  where  God  was,  that 
He  might  save  the  dear  child  from  these  torments 
unspeakable. 

But  there  was  always  the  silence,  the  dead  phys- 
ical blackness  and  silence.  He  beat  his  hands  upon 
the  stone  wall;  he  bruised  his  head  upon  the  roof 
of  darkness  which  would  not  let  him  stand  upright, 
and  he  knew — as  it  is  appointed  to  some  chosen 
men  to  know — that  unutterable,  unthinkable  de- 
spair of  travail  which  made  Our  Lord  Himself 
call  out  in  the  last  hour  of  His  passion,  'HXi,  'HAi, 

Xa/ia  (rafta^fdavf. 

There  was  no   response  to  his  prayers.      Into 
his  heart  came  no  answering  message  of  hope. 
And  then  the  mind  of  this  man,  which  had  borne 


296  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

so  much,  and  suffered  so  greatly,  began  to  become 
powerless  to  feel.  A  bottle  can  only  hold  a  certain 
amount  of  water,  the  strings  of  an  instrument  be 
plucked  to  a  certain  measure  of  sound,  the  brain 
of  a  man  can  endure  up  to  a  certain  strain,  and  then 
it  snaps  entirely,  or  is  drowsed  with  misery. 

Physically,  the  young  man  was  in  perfect  health 
when  they  had  taken  him  to  his  prison.  He  had 
lived  always  a  cleanly  and  athletic  life.  No  sensual 
ease  had  ever  dimmed  his  faculties.  And  there- 
fore, though  he  knew  it  not,  the  frightful  mental 
agony  he  had  undergone  had  but  drawn  upon  the 
reserve  of  his  physical  forces,  and  had  hardly  in- 
jured his  body  at  all.  The  food  they  gave  him,  at 
any  rate  for  the  time  of  his  disappearance  from  the 
world  of  sentient  beings,  was  enough  to  support 
life.  And  while  he  lay  in  dreadful  hopelessness, 
while  his  limbs  were  racked  with  pain,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  stood  upon  the  very  thresh- 
old of  death,  he  was  in  reality  physically  com- 
petent, and  a  few  hours  of  relief  would  bring  his 
body  back  to  its  pristine  strength. 

There  came  a  time  when  he  lay  upon  his  stone 
floor  perfectly  motionless.  The  merciful  anodyne 
that  comes  to  all  tortured  people  when  either  the 
brain  or  body  can  bear  no  more,  had  come  to  him 
now. 

It  seemed  but  a  short  moment — in  reality  it  was 
several  hours — since  his  jailors,  those  masked  still- 
moving  figures,  had  brought  him  a  renewal  of  his 
food.  He  could  not  eat  the  bread,  but  two  figs 


IN  THE  BOX  297 

upon  the  platter  were  grateful  and  cooling  to  his 
throat,  though  he  was  unconscious  of  any  physical 
gratification.  He  knew,  sometime  after,  that  sus- 
tenance had  been  brought  to  him,  and  that  he  had 
a  great  thirst.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  mechani- 
cally for  the  pitcher,  rising  from  the  floor  and 
pressing  the  brim  to  his  lips. 

He  drank  deeply,  and  as  he  drank  became  sud- 
denly aware  that  this  was  not  the  lukewarm  water 
of  the  past  darkness,  but  something  that  ran 
through  his  veins,  that  swiftly  ran  through  them, 
and  as  the  blood  mounted  to  his  brain  gave  him 
courage,  awoke  him,  fed  the  starved  nerves.  It 
was  wine  he  was  drinking !  wine  that  perhaps  would 
be  red  in  the  light;  wine  that  once  more  filled  him 
with  endeavour,  and  a  desperate  desire  which  was 
not  hope  but  the  last  protest  against  his  fate. 

He  lay  back  once  more,  by  no  means  the  same 
man  he  had  been  some  little  time  agone,  and  as 
he  reclined  in  a  happy  physical  stupor — the  while 
his  brain  was  alive  again  and  began  to  work — he 
said  many  times  to  himself  the  name  of  Jesus. 

'  Jesus !  Jesus  !  Jesus !  "  — it  was  all  he  could  say; 
it  was  all  he  could  think  of,  it  was  his  last  prayer. 
Just  the  name  alone. 

And  very  speedily  the  prayer  was  answered. 
Out  of  the  depths  he  cried — "  De  profundis 
clamavit" — and  the  door  opened,  as  it  opened  to 
the  Apostle  Paul,  and  the  place  where  he  was  was 
filled  with  red  light. 

For  a  moment  he  was  unable  to  realise  it.     He 


298  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

passed  one  wasted  and  dirty  hand  before  his  eyes. 
"  Jesus !  "  he  said  again,  in  a  dreamy,  wondering 
voice. 

He  felt  himself  lifted  up  from  where  he  lay. 
Two  strong  hands  were  under  his  arms;  he  was 
taken  out  of  the  stinking  oubliette  into  the  corridor 
beyond. 

He  stood  upright.  He  stretched  out  his  arms. 
He  breathed  another  air.  It  was  a  damp,  foetid, 
underground  air,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  came 
from  the  gardens  of  the  Hesperides. 

Then  he  became  conscious  of  a  voice  speaking 
quietly,  quickly,  and  with  great  insistence. 

The  voice  in  his  ear! 

..."  Senor,  we  have  had  to  wait.  You  have 
had  to  lie  in  this  dungeon,  and  I  could  do  nothing 
for  you — for  you  that  saved  my  life.  It  hath  taken 
many  days  to  think  out  a  plan  to  save  you  and  the 
Senorita.  But  'tis  done  now,  'tis  cut  and  dried,  and 
neither  you  nor  she  shall  go  to  the  death  designed 
for  you  both.  It  hath  been  designed  by  the  As- 
sessor and  the  Procurator  Fiscal,  acting  under 
orders  of  the  Grand  Inquisitor,  that  you  shall  be 
tortured  to  death,  or  near  to  it,  and  that  to  the 
Senorita  shall  be  done  the  same.  Then  you  are  to 
be  taken  to  the  Quemadero — that  great  altar  of 
stone  supported  by  figures  of  the  Holy  Apostles — 
and  there  burnt  to  death  at  the  forthcoming  auto 
da  fe." 

"  Then  what," — Johnnie's  voice  came  from  him 
in  a  hollow  whisper. 


IN  THE  BOX  299 

"Hush,  hush,"  the  other  voice  answered  him; 
"  'tis  all  arranged.  Tis  all  settled,  but  still  it 
dependeth  upon  you,  Sefior.  Will  you  save  your 
lady  love,  and  go  free  with  her  from  here,  and 
with  your  servant  also,  or  will  you  die  and  let  her 
die  too?" 

"  Then  she  hath  not  been  tortured?  " 

"  Not  yet;  it  is  for  to-night.  You  come  after- 
wards. But  you  do  not  know  me,  Sefior;  you  do 
not  realise  who  I  am." 

At  this  Johnnie  looked  into  the  face  of  the  man 
who  supported  him. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  in  a  dreamy  voice,  "  Alonso! — 
I  took  you  from  the  sea,  did  not  I?  ' 

Everything  was  circling  round  him,  he  wanted 
to  fall,  to  lie  down  and  sleep  in  this  new  air.  .  .  . 

The  torturer  saw  it — he  had  a  dreadful  knowl- 
edge of  those  who  were  about  to  faint.  He  caught 
hold  of  Johnnie  somewhere  at  the  back  of  the 
neck.  There  was  a  sudden  scientific  pressure  of 
the  flat  thumb  upon  a  nerve,  and  the  sinking  senses 
of  the  captive  came  back  to  him  in  a  flood  of  pain- 
ful consciousness. 

"  Ah !  "  he  cried,  "  but  I  feel  better  now !  Go 
on,  go  on,  tell  me,  what  is  all  this?  ..." 

One  big  thumb  was  pressed  gently  at  the  back  of 
Johnnie's  head.  "  It  is  this,"  said  the  voice,  "  and 
now,  Senor,  listen  to  me  as  if  you  had  never  listened 
to  any  other  voice  in  this  whole  world.  In  the  first 
place,  you  have  much  money ;  you  have  much  money 
to  be  employed  for  you,  in  the  hands  of  your  serv- 


300  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

ant,  and  from  him  I  hear  that  you  are  noble  and 
wealthy  in  England.  I  myself  am  a  young  man, 
but  lately  introduced  to  do  the  work  I  do.  I  am  in 
debt,  Senor,  and  neither  my  father  nor  my  brother 
will  help  me.  There  is  a  family  feud  between  us. 
Now  my  father  is  the  head  sworn-torturer  of  the 
Holy  Office;  my  brother  is  his  assistant,  and  I  am 
the  assistant  to  my  brother.  The  three  of  us  do 
rack  and  put  to  pain  those  who  come  before  us. 
But  I  myself  am  tired  of  this  business,  and  would 
away  to  a  country  where  I  can  earn  a  more  honest 
and  kindly  living.  Therefore  if  thou  wilt  help 
me  to  do  this,  all  will  be  well.  There  is  a  carrack 
sailing  for  the  port  of  Rome  this  very  night,  and 
we  can  all  be  aboard  of  it,  and  save  ourselves,  if 
thou  wilt  do  what  we  have  made  a  plan  of." 

"And  what  is  that?"  Johnnie  asked. 

"  'Tis  a  dangerous  and  deadly  thing.  We  may 
win  a  way  to  safety  and  joy,  or  it  may  be  that  we 
perish.  I'll  put  it  upon  the  throw  of  the  die,  and 
so  must  you,  Senor." 

Johnnie  clutched  Alonso  by  the  arm.  "  Man ! 
man !  "  he  said,  "  there  is  some  doubt  in  your  voice. 
What  is  it?  what  is  it?  I  would  do  anything  but 
lose  my  immortal  soul  to  save  the  Senorita  from 
what  is  to  be  done  to  her  to-night." 

"  'Tis  well,"  the  other  answered  briefly.  "  Then 
now  I  will  tell  you  what  you  must  do.  'Tis  now 
the  hour  of  sunset.  In  two  hours  more  the  Senorita 
will  be  brought  to  the  rooms  of  the  Question.  Thy 
servant  is  of  the  height  and  build  of  my  father. 


IN  THE  BOX  301 

Thou  art  the  same  as  regards  my  brother.  If  you 
consent  to  what  I  shall  tell  you,  you  and  your  serv- 
ant will  take  the  place  of  my  brother  and  father. 
No  one  will  know  you  from  them,  because  we  wear 
black  linen  garments  and  a  hood  which  covereth 
our  faces.  I  will  go  away,  and  I  will  put  something 
in  their  wine  which  will  send  my  father  and  my 
brother  to  sleep  for  long  hours — sometimes  we  put 
it  in  the  water  we  give  to  drink  to  those  who  come 
to  us  for  torture,  and  who  are  able,  or  their  rela- 
tives indeed,  to  pay  well  for  such  service.  My 
people  will  know  nothing,  and  you,  with  Juan  thy 
servant,  will  take  their  places.  Nor  will  the  In- 
quisitor know.  It  hath  been  well  thought  out, 
Senor.  I  shall  give  you  your  directions,  and  under- 
standing Spanish  you  will  follow  them  out  as  if 
you  were  indeed  my  blood-brother.  As  for  the 
man  Juan,  it  will  be  your  part  to  whisper  to  him 
what  he  has  to  do,  for  I  cannot  otherwise  make 
him  understand." 

Suddenly  a  dreadful  thought  flashed  into  John- 
nie's mind.  This  man  understood  no  word  of 
English.  How,  then,  had  he  plotted  this  scheme 
of  rescue  and  escape  with  John  Hull,  Was  this 
not  one  of  those  dreadful  traps — themselves  part 
of  a  devilish  scheme  of  torture — of  which  he  had 
heard  in  England,  and  of  which  Don  Perez  had 
more  than  hinted? 

"  And  how  dost  thou  understand  my  man  John," 
he  said,  "  seeing  that  thou  knowest  no  word  of  his 
language  ?  " 


302  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  other  made  an  impatient  movement  of  his 
hands.  "  Sefior,"  he  said,  "  I  marked  that  you  did 
not  seem  to  trust  me.  I  am  here  to  adventure  my 
life,  in  recompense  for  that  you  did  so  forme.  I  am 
here  also  to  get  away  from  Spain  with  the  aid  of 
thy  money — to  get  away  to  Rome,  where  the  Holy 
Office  will  reach  none  of  us.  In  doing  this,  I  am 
risking  my  life,  as  I  have  said.  And  for  me  I  am 
risking  far  more  than  life.  I,  that  have  done  so 
many  grievous  things  to  others,  am  a  great  coward, 
and  go  in  horrid  fear  of  pain.  I  could  not  stand 
the  least  of  the  tortures,  and  if  I  am  caught  in  this 
enterprise,  I  shall  endure  the  worst  of  all.  In  any 
case,  thou  hast  nothing  to  lose,  for  if  I  am  indeed 
endeavouring  to  entrap  you,  you  will  gain  nothing. 
The  worst  is  reserved  for  you — as  we  have  previous 
orders — for  it  is  whispered  that  yours  is  not  so 
much  a  matter  of  heresy,  but  that  you  did  things 
against  King  Philip's  Majesty  in  England." 

Johnnie  nodded.  " 'Tis  true,"  he  said;  "but 
still,  tell  me  for  a  further  sign  and  token  of  thy 
fidelity  how  thou  earnest  to  be  in  communication 
with  John  Hull." 

"Did  I  not  tell  thee?"  the  man  answered,  in 
amazement.  "  Why,  'twas  through  the  second 
captain  of  the  St.  lago,  I  cannot  say  his  name,  who 
hath  been  with  Juan  these  many  days,  and  speakest 
Spanish  near  as  well  as  you." 

Johnnie  realised  the  truth  at  once,  surprised  that 
it  had  not  come  to  him  before.  It  was  Mr. 
Mew,  whom  he  had  tackled  for  his  friendship 


IN  THE  BOX  303 

with  Alonso!  "Then  what  am  I  to  do?"  he 
said. 

Alonso  began  to  speak  slowly  and  with  some 
hesitation. 

"  The  work  to  do  to-night,"  he  said,  "  is  to 
put  a  Carthusian  monk,  Luis  Mercader,  to  the 
torture  of  the  trampezo.  After  that,  the  Senorita 
will  be  brought  in,  interrogated,  and  is  to  be 
scourged  as  the  first  of  her  tortures." 

The  man  started  away — Johnnie  had  growled  in 
his  throat  like  a  dog.  .  .  . 

"  It  will  not  be,  it  will  not  be,  Senor,"  Alonso 
said.  "  When  Luis  is  finished  with,  he  will  be 
taken  away  by  the  surgeon  and  afterwards  by  the 
jailors.  Then  they  will  bring  the  Senorita  and 
retire.  There  will  be  none  in  the  room  of  the  Ques- 
tion but  thou,  Juan,  and  myself,  wearing  our  linen 
hoods,  and  Father  Deza,  that  is  the  Grand  In- 
quisitor newly  come  from  England,  his  notary,  and 
the  physician.  The  doors  leading  to  the  prisons 
will  be  locked,  for  none  must  see  the  torture  save 
only  the  officials  concerned  therein — as  hath  long 
been  the  law.  It  will  be  easy  for  us  three  to  over- 
power the  Inquisitor,  the  surgeon,  and  the  notary. 
Then  we  can  escape  through  the  private  rooms  of 
us  torturers,  which  lead  to  the  back  entrance  of  the 
fortress.  The  caballeros  will  not  be  discovered,  if 
bound — or  killed,  indeed — for  some  hours,  for  none 
are  allowed  to  approach  the  room  of  Question 
from  the  prisons  until  they  are  summoned  by  a 
bell.  I  shall  have  everything  ready,  and  mules 


3o4  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

waiting,  so  that  we  may  go  straight  to  the  muelle— 
the  wharf  to  which  the  carrack  is  tied.  The  cap- 
tain thereof  is  the  Italian  mariner  Pozzi,  who  hath 
no  love  towards  Spain,  and  we  shall  be  upon  the 
high  seas  before  even  our  absence  is  discovered." 

"  Good,"  Johnnie  answered,  his  voice  uncon- 
sciously assuming  the  note  of  command  it  was  wont 
to  use,  the  wine  having  reanimated  him,  his  whole 
body  and  brain  tense  with  excitement,  ready  for 
the  daring  deed  that  awaited  him. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  only  take 
you  away  from  all  this  wickedness  and  horror,  but 
you  shall  have  money  enough  to  live  like  a  gentle- 
man in  Italy.  I  have — now  I  understand  it — 
plenty  of  money  in  the  hands  of  my  servant  to 
bring  us  well  to  Rome.  Once  in  Rome,  I  can  send 
letters  to  my  friends  in  England,  and  be  rich  in  a 
few  short  months.  I  shall  not  forget  you ;  I  shall 
see  to  your  guerdon." 

The  man  spat  upon  his  hands  and  rubbed  them 
together — those  large  prehensile  hands.  "  I  knew 
it,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  "  I  pay  a  debt  for 
my  life,  as  is  but  right  and  just,  and  I  win  a  for- 
tune too !  I  knew  it !  " 

"  Tell  me  exactly  what  is  to  happen,"  Johnnie 
said. 

In  the  flickering  light  of  the  torch,  once  more 
Alonso  looked  curiously  at  Commendone.  He  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  and  then  he  spoke. 

"  There  is  just  the  business  of  the  heretic  Luis," 
he  said.  "  He  must  be  tortured  before  ever  the 


IN  THE  BOX  305 

Senorita  is  brought  in.  And  you  and  Juan  must 
help  in  the  torture  to  sustain  your  parts." 

Johnnie  started.  Until  this  very  moment  he  had 
not  realised  that  hideous  necessity.  He  under- 
stood Alonso's  hesitation  now. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Alonso  broke  it. 

"  I  shall  do  the  principal  part,  Senor,"  he  said 
hurriedly.  "  It  is  nothing  to  me.  I  have  done  so 
much  of  it !  But  there  are  certain  things  that  thou 
must  do  and  thy  servant  also,  or  at  least  must 
seem  to  do.  There  is  no  other  way." 

Johnnie  put  his  poor  soiled  hands  to  his  face. 
"  I  cannot  do  it,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  from 
which  hope,  which  had  rung  in  it  before,  had  now 
departed.  "  I  cannot  do  it.  I  will  not  stain  my 
honour  thus." 

"  So  said  Juan  to  me  at  first,"  the  other  an- 
swered. "  They  have  been  hunting  high  and  low 
for  Juan,  but  he  hath  escaped  the  Familiars,  in  that 
I  have  hid  him.  For  himself,  Juan  said  he  would 
do  nothing  of  the  sort,  but  for  you  he  finally  said 
he  would  do  it.  *  For,  look  you,'  Juan  said  to 
me,  '  I  love  the  gentleman  that  is  my  master,  and 
I  love  my  little  mistress  better,  so  that  I  will  even 
help  to  torture  this  Spaniard,  and  let  no  word 
escape  me  in  the  doing  of  it  that  may  betray  our 
design.'  That  was  what  thy  servant  said,  Senor. 
And  now,  what  sayest  thou?" 

"She  would  not  wish  it,"  Commendone  half 
said,  half  sobbed.  "  If  she  knew,  she  would  die 


3o6  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

a  thousand  deaths  rather  than  that  I  should 
do  it." 

'  That  may  be  very  sure,  Sefior,  but  she  will 
never  know  it  if  we  win  to  safety.  And  as  for  this 
Luis  Mercader,  he  must  die,  anyhow.  There  is  no 
hope  for  him.  He  must  be  tortured,  if  not  by  you, 
Juan,  and  I,  then  by  myself,  my  father,  and  my 
brother.  It  is  remediless." 

"  I  cannot  do  evil  that  good  may  come,"  John- 
nie replied,  in  a  whisper. 

Alonso  stamped  upon  the  ground  in  his  impa- 
tience. He  could  not  understand  the  prisoner's 
attitude,  though  he  had  realised  some  possibility 
of  it  from  his  conferences  with  John  Hull.  He  had 
half  known,  when  he  came  to  Commendone,  that 
there  would  be  something  of  this  sort.  If  the 
rough  man  of  his  own  rank  turned  in  horror  and 
dislike  from  the  only  opportunity  presented  for 
saving  the  Senorita,  how  much  more  would  the 
master  do  so? 

For  himself,  he  could  not  understand  it.  He 
did  his  hideous  work  with  the  regularity  of  a 
machine,  and  with  as  little  pity.  Outside  in  his 
private  life,  he  was  much  as  other  men.  He  could 
be  tender  to  a  woman  he  loved,  kindly  and  generous 
to  his  friends.  But  business  was  business,  and  he 
was  hardly  human  at  his  work. 

Habit  makes  slaves  of  us  all,  and  this  mental 
attitude  of  the  sworn  torturer — horrible  as  it  may 
seem  at  first  glance — is  very  easily  understood  by 
the  psychologist,  though  hardly  by  the  sentimental- 


IN  THE  BOX  307 

ist,  who  is  always  a  thoroughly  illogical  person. 
Alonso  tortured  human  beings.  In  doing  this  he 
had  the  sanction  and  the  order  of  his  social  su- 
periors and  his  ecclesiastical  directors.  In  1910 
one  has  not  heard,  for  example,  that  a  pretty  and 
gentle  girl  refuses  to  marry  a  butcher  because  he 
plunges  his  knife  into  the  neck  of  the  sheep  tied 
down  upon  the  stool,  twists  his  little  cord  around 
the  snout  of  some  shrieking  pig  and  cuts  its  throat 
with  his  keen  blade.  .  .  . 

Alonso  could  not  understand  the  man  whom  he 
hoped  to  save,  but  he  recognised  and  was  prepared 
for  his  point  of  view. 

"  Senor,"  he  said,  in  a  thick,  hurried  voice,  "  I 
will  do  it  all  myself.  You  will  have  to  help  in  the 
binding,  and  to  stand  by.  That  is  all.  Think  of 
the  little  Senorita  whom  you  love.  That  French 
lady  drove  a  table-knife  into  her  heart,  rather  than 
endure  the  torments.  Think  of  the  Senorita ! 
You  will  not  let  her  die  thus?  For  you,  it  is  dif- 
ferent; I  well  know  that  you  would  endure  all  that 
is  in  store,  if  it  were  but  a  question  of  saving  your 
own  life.  But  you  must  think  of  her,  and  you  must 
remember  always  that  the  man  Luis  is  most  cer- 
tainly doomed,  and  that  no  action  of  yours  can  stay 
that  doom.  You  will  have  to  look  on,  that  is  all — 
to  seem  as  if  you  approved  and  were  helping." 

He  had  said  enough.  His  cause  was  won. 
Johnnie  had  seen  Dr.  Rowland  Taylor  die  in  pious 
agony,  and  had  neither  lifted  voice  nor  drawn 
sword  to  prevent  it. 


308  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  I  thank  you,  I  thank  you,  Alonso,"  he  said. 
"  I  must  endure  it  for  the  sake  of  the  Senorita. 
And  more  than  all  I  thank  you  that  you  will  not 
require  me  to  agonise  this  unhappy  wretch  my- 
self." 

"Good;  that  is  understood,"  Alonso  answered. 
"  We  have  already  been  talking  too  long.  Get 
you  back,  Senor,  into  your  prison,  for  an  hour  or 
more.  Then  I  will  come  to  you.  Indeed,  more  de- 
pends upon  this  than  upon  any  other  detail  of  what 
we  purpose.  We  who  are  sworn  to  torture  are 
distinct  and  separate  from  the  prison  jailors.  We 
are  paid  a  larger  salary,  but  we  have  no  jurisdic- 
tion or  power  within  the  prisons  themselves,  save 
only  what  we  make  by  interest.  But  the  man  who 
bringeth  you  your  food  is  a  friend  of  my  family, 
and  hath  cast  an  eye  upon  my  sister,  though  she 
as  yet  has  responded  little  to  his  overtures.  I  have 
made  private  cause  with  Isabella,  and  she  hath 
given  him  a  meeting  this  very  night  outside  the 
church  of  Santa  Ana.  He  could  not  meet  with 
her  this  night,  were  it  not  for  my  intervention.  He 
came  to  me  in  great  perplexity,  longing  before  any- 
thing to  meet  Isabella.  I  told  him,  though  I  was 
difficult  to  be  approached  on  the  point,  that  I  would 
myself  look  after  the  prisoners  in  this  ward,  and 
that  he  must  give  me  his  keys.  This  he  hath  done, 
and  I  am  free  of  this  part  of  the  prison.  So  that, 
Senor,  in  an  hour  or  two  I  shall  come  to  you  again 
with  your  dress  of  a  tormentor.  I  shall  take  you 
through  devious  ways  out  of  the  prison  proper,  and 


IN  THE  BOX  309 

into  our  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  Chamber,  so 
all  will  be  well." 

Johnnie  took  the  huge  splay  hand  in  his,  and 
stumbled  back  into  the  stone  box.  There  was  a 
clang  as  the  door  closed  upon  him,  and  he  sank 
down  upon  the  floor. 

He  sank  down  upon  the  floor  no  longer  in  abso- 
lute despair.  The  darkness  was  as  thick  and  hor- 
rible as  ever,  but  Hope  was  there. 

Then  he  knelt,  placed  his  hands  together,  re- 
cited a  Paternoster,  and  began  to  pray.  He  prayed 
first  of  all  for  the  soul  of  the  man — the  unknown 
man — whose  semi-final  torture  he  was  to  witness, 
and  perchance  help  in.  Then  he  prayed  to  Our 
Lord  that  there  might  be  a  happy  issue  out  of  these 
present  afflictions,  that  if  it  pleased  Jesus  he,  Eliza- 
beth, the  stout  John  Hull  might  yet  sail  away  over 
the  tossing  seas  towards  safety. 

Then  he  made  a  prayer  for  the  soul  of  Madame 
La  Motte — she  who  had  traded  upon  virtue,  she 
who  had  taken  her  own  life,  but  in  whom  was  yet 
some  germ  of  good,  a  well  and  fountain  of  kindli- 
ness and  sympathy  withal. 

After  that  he  pulled  himself  together,  felt  his 
muscle,  stretched  himself  to  see  that  his  great  and 
supple  strength  had  not  deserted  him,  and  remained 
with  a  placid  mind,  waiting  for  the  opening  of  his 
prison  door  again. 

The  anguish  of  his  thoughts  about  Elizabeth 
was  absolutely  gone.  A  cool  certainty  came  to  him 
that  he  would  save  her. 


3io  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

He  was  waiting  now,  alert  and  aware.  Every 
nerve  was  ready  for  the  enterprise.  With  a  scrutiny 
of  his  own  consciousness — for  he  perfectly  realised 
that  death  might  still  be  very  near — he  asked  him- 
self if  he  had  performed  all  his  religious  duties. 
If  he  were  to  die  in  the  next  hour  or  so,  he  would 
have  no  sacramental  absolution.  That  he  knew. 
Therefore,  he  was  endeavouring  to  make  his 
private  peace  with  God,  and  as  he  looked  upon  his 
thoughts  with  the  higher  super-brain,  it  did  not 
seem  to  him  that  there  was  anything  lacking  in  his 
pious  resignation  to  what  should  come. 

He  was  going  to  make  a  bold  and  desperate  bid 
for  Lizzie's  freedom,  his  own,  and  their  mutual 
happiness. 

As  well  as  he  was  able,  he  had  put  his  house  in 
order,  and  was  waiting. 

But  for  Don  Diego  Deza  he  did  not  pray  at 
all.  He  was  but  human.  That  he  lacked  power 
to  do,  and  in  so  far  fell  away  from  the  Example. 

But  as  he  thought  of  It,  and  the  words  so 
sacrosanct,  he  remembered  that  the  torturers  of 
Christ  knew  not  what  they  did.  They  were  even 
as  this  man  Alonso. 

But  Don  Diego,  cultured,  highly  sensitive,  a 
brilliant  man,  knew  what  he  did  very  well. 

Even  the  young  man's  wholly  contrite  and  more 
than  half-broken  heart  could  send  no  message  to 
the  Throne  for  the  Grand  Inquisitor  of  Seville. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM  " 

IT  was  very  hot. 

Commendone  stood  in  the  ante-chamber  of  the 
torturers. 

He  wore  the  garment  of  black  linen,  the  hood 
of  the  same,  with  the  two  circular  orifices  for  his 
eyes. 

John  Hull  kept  touching  him  with  an  almost 
caressing  movement — John  Hull,  a  grotesque  and 
terrible  figure  also  in  his  torturer's  dress. 

Alonso  moved  about  the  place  hurriedly,  putting 
this  and  that  to  rights,  looking  after  his  instru- 
ments, but  with  a  flitting,  bird-like  movement, 
showing  how  deeply  he  was  excited. 

The  room  was  a  long,  low  place.  The  ceiling 
but  just  above  their  heads.  A  glowing  fire  was 
at  one  end,  and  shelves  all  round  the  room.  At 
one  side  of  the  fire  was  a  portable  brazier  of  iron, 
glowing  with  coals,  and  on  the  top  of  it  a  shape  of 
white-hot  metal  was  lying. 

Alonso  came  up  to  Commendone,  a  dreadful 
black  figure,  a  silently  moving  figure,  with  noth- 
ing humanly  alive  about  him  save  only  the  two  slits 
through  which  his  eyes  might  be  seen. 

3" 


3 12  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

"  Courage,  Senor,"  he  whispered,  "  it  will  not  be 
long  now." 

Johnnie,  unaware  that  he  himself  was  an  equally 
hideous  and  sinister  figure,  nodded,  and  swallowed 
something  in  his  throat. 

John  Hull,  short,  broad,  and  dreadful  in  this 
black  disguise,  sidled  up  to  him. 

"  Master,"  he  whispered,  "  it  will  soon  be  over, 
and  we  shall  win  away.  We  have  been  in  a  very 
evil  case  before,  and  that  went  well.  Now  that  we 
are  dressed  in  these  grave-clothes  and  must  do  bit- 
ter business,  we  must  make  up  our  minds  to 
do  it.  'Tis  for  the  sake  of  Mistress  Elizabeth, 
whom  we  love — Jesus!  what  is  that  hell-hound 
doing?" 

The  broad  figure  shuddered,  and  into  the  kindly 
English  voice  came  a  note  of  horror. 

Johnnie  turned  also,  and  saw  that  the  torturer 
was  tumbling  several  long-handled  pincers  into  a 
wooden  tray.  Then  the  torturer  took  one  of  them 
up,  and  turned  the  glowing  something  in  the 
brazier,  quietly,  professionally,  though  the  red  glow 
that  fell  upon  his  horrible  black  costume  gave  him 
indeed  the  aspect  of  a  devil  from  the  pit — the 
bloody  pantomime  which  was  designed ! 

The  two  Englishmen  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder 
and  shuddered,  as  they  saw  this  figure  moving 
about  the  glowing  coals. 

Johnnie  took  a  half-step  forward,  when  Hull 
pressed  him  back. 

11  God's  death,  master,"  Hull  said.     "  We  look 


"TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM  "       313 

like  that;  we  are  even  as  he  is  in  aspect;  we  have 
to  do  our  work — now !  " 

A  door  to  the  right  suddenly  swung  open.  Two 
steps  led  up  to  it,  and  a  face  peeped  round.  It  was 
the  face  of  a  bearded  man,  with  heavy  eyebrows 
and  very  white  cheeks.  Upon  the  head  was  a 
biretta  of  black  velvet. 

The  head  nodded.  "  We  are  ready,"  came  the 
voice  from  it.  The  door  fell  to  again. 

Then  Alonso  came  up  to  Johnnie.  "  The  work 
begins,"  he  said,  in  a  gruff  voice,  from  which  all 
respect  had  gone  with  design.  "  You  and  Juan 
will  carry  in  that  brazier  of  coals." 

He  went  to  the  door,  mounted  the  two  stone 
steps,  and  held  it  open.  Johnnie  and  Hull  bore  in 
the  brazier  up  the  steps,  and  into  a  large  room  lit, 
but  not  very  brightly,  with  candles  set  in  sconces 
upon  the  walls. 

Following  the  directions  of  Alonso,  they  placed 
the  brazier  in  a  far  corner,  and  stood  by  it,  waiting 
in  silence. 

They  were  in  a  big,  arched  dungeon,  far  under 
ground,  as  it  seemed.  At  one  end  of  it  there  was 
an  alcove,  brilliantly  lit.  In  the  alcove  was  a  dais, 
or  platform.  On  the  platform  was  a  long  table 
draped  with  black,  and  set  with  silver  candlesticks. 
On  the  wall  behind  was  a  great  crucifix  of  white 
and  black — the  figure  of  the  Christ  made  of  plaster, 
or  white  painted  wood,  the  cross  of  ebony.  In  the 
centre  of  the  long  table  sat  Don  Diego  Deza.  On 
one  side  of  him  was  a  man  in  a  robe  of  velvet  and  a 


3i4  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

flat  cap.  On  the  other,  the  person  who  had  peeped 
through  the  door  into  the  room  of  the  torturers. 

There  came  a  beating,  a  heavy,  muffled  knock, 
upon  a  door  to  the  left  of  the  alcove. 

Alonso  left  the  others  and  hurried  to  the  door. 
With  some  effort  he  pulled  back  a  lever  which  con- 
trolled several  massive  bolts.  The  door  swung 
open,  there  was  a  red  glare  of  torches,  and  two 
dark  figures,  piloted  by  the  torturer,  half-led,  half- 
carried  the  bound  figure  of  a  man  into  the  room. 

They  placed  this  figure  upon  an  oak  stool  with 
a  high  back,  a  yard  or  two  away  from  the  dai's,  and 
then  quietly  retired. 

As  the  door  leading  to  the  prison  closed,  Alonso 
shot  the  bolts  into  their  place,  and,  returning,  stood 
by  the  stool  on  which  was  the  figure. 

The  notary  came  down  from  the  platform,  fol- 
lowed by  the  physician.  In  his  hand  was  a  parch- 
ment and  a  pen;  while  a  long  ink-horn  depended 
from  his  belt.  Father  Deza  was  left  alone  at  the 
table  above. 

"  I  have  read  thy  depositions,"  the  Inquisitor 
said,  speaking  down  to  the  man,  "  wherein  thou 
hast  not  refuted  in  detail  the  terrible  blasphemies 
of  Servetus,  and  therefore,  Luis  Mercader,  I  thank 
the  Son  of  God,  Who  deputeth  to  me  the  power  to 
sentence  thee  at  the  end  of  this  thy  struggle  be- 
tween Holy  Church  and  thine  own  obstinate  blas- 
phemies. In  accordance  with  justice  of  my  brother 
inquisitors,  I  now  sign  thy  warrant  for  death, 
which  is  indeed  our  right  and  duty  to  execute  a 


"TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM  "       315 

blasphemous  person  after  a  regular  examination. 
Thou  art  to  be  burnt  anon  at  the  forthcoming  Act 
of  Faith.  Thou  art  to  be  delivered  to  the  secular 
arm  to  suffer  this  last  penalty.  Thy  blood  shall  not 
be  upon  our  heads,  for  the  Holy  Office  is  ever 
merciful.  But  before  thou  goest,  in  our  kindness 
we  have  ordained  that  thou  shalt  learn  something 
of  the  sufferings  to  come.  For  so  only,  between 
this  night  and  the  day  of  thy  death,  shalt  thou  have 
opportunity  to  reason  with  thyself,  perchance  recant 
thy  errors,  and  make  thy  peace  with  God." 

He  had  said  this  in  a  rapid  mutter,  a  monotone 
of  vengeance.  As  he  concluded  he  nodded  to  the 
black  figure  by  the  prisoner's  chair. 

Alonso  turned  round.  With  shaking  footsteps, 
Hull  and  Johnnie  came  up  to  him,  carrying 
ropes. 

There  was  a  quick  whisper. 

"  Tie  him  up — thus — yes,  the  hands  behind  the 
back  of  the  stool;  the  left  leg  bound  fast — it  is  the 
right  foot  upon  which  we  put  the  trampezo." 

They  did  it  deftly  and  quietly.  Under  the  long 
linen  garments  which  concealed  them,  their  hearts 
were  beating  like  drums,  their  throats  were  parched 
and  dry,  their  eyes  burnt  as  they  looked  out  upon 
this  dreadful  scene. 

The  notary  went  back  to  the  dais,  and  sat  beside 
Father  Deza.  The  surgeon  took  Alonso  aside. 
Johnnie  heard  what  he  said  .  .  . 

"  It  will  be  all  right;  he  can  bear  it;  he  will  not 
die ;  in  any  case  the  auto  da  fe  will  be  in  three  days ; 


316  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

he  must  endure  it;  have  the  water  ready  to  bring 
him  back  if  he  fainteth." 

The  chirurgeon  went  back  to  the  alcove  and  sat 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Inquisitor. 

"  Bring  up  the  brazier,"  Alonso  said  to  Com- 
mendone. 

Together  Johnnie  and  Hull  carried  it-  to  the 
chair. 

"  Now  send  Juan  for  the  pincers   ..." 

There  came  a  long,  low  wail  of  despair  from  the 
broken,  motionless  figure  on  the  stool.  The  long 
pincers,  like  those  with  which  a  blacksmith  pulls 
out  a  shoe  from  the  charcoal,  were  produced.  .  .  . 

The  torturer  took  the  glowing  thing  on  the  top 
of  the  brazier,  and  pulled  it  off,  scattering  the  coals 
as  he  did  so. 

Close  to  the  foot  of  the  bound  figure  he  placed 
the  glowing  shoe.  Then  he  motioned  to  Hull  to 
take  up  the  other  side  of  it  with  his  pincers,  and 
put  it  in  place  so  that  the  foot  of  the  victim  should 
be  clamped  to  it  and  burnt  away. 

John  Hull  took  up  the  long  pincers,  and  caught 
hold  of  one  side  of  the  shoe. 

Johnnie  turned  his  head  away;  he  looked  straight 
through  his  black  hood  at  the  three  people  on  the 
dai's. 

The  notary  was  quietly  writing.  ,The  surgeon 
was  looking  on  with  cool  professional  eye;  but 
Don  Deza  was  watching  the  imminent  horror  be- 
low him  with  a  white  face  which  dripped  with 
sweat,  with  eyes  dilated  to  two  rims,  gazing,  gaz- 


"TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM  "       317 

ing,  drinking  the  sight  in.  Every  now  and  again 
the  Inquisitor  licked  his  pallid  lips  with  his  tongue. 
And  in  that  moment  of  watching,  Johnnie  knew 
that  Cruelty,  for  the  sake  of  Cruelty,  the  mad 
pleasure  of  watching  suffering  in  its  most  hideous 
forms,  was  the  hidden'  vice,  the  true  nature,  of  this 
priest  of  Courts. 

At  the  moment,  and  doubtless  at  many  other 
moments  in  the  past,  Father  Deza  was  compensat- 
ing, and  had  compensated,  for  a  life  of  abstinence 
from  sensual  indulgence.  He  was  giving  scope  to 
the  deadlier  vices  of  the  heart,  pride,  bigotry,  in- 
tolerance, and  horrid  cruelty — those  vices  far  more 
opposed  to  the  hope  of  salvation,  and  far  more 
extensively  mischievous  to  society,  than  anything 
the  sensualist  can  do. 

The  bitterness  of  it;  the  horror  of  it — this  was 
the  wine  the  brilliant  priest  was  drinking,  had 
drunk,  and  would  ever  drink.  Into  him  had  come 
a  devil  which  had  killed  his  soul,  and  looked  out 
from  his  narrow  twitching  eyes,  rejoicing  that  it 
saw  these  things  with  the  symbol  of  God's  pain 
high  above  it,  with  the  cloak  of  God's  Church  upon 
his  shoulders. 

As  Johnnie  watched,  fascinated  with  an  unname- 
able  horror,  he  heard  a  loud  shout  close  to  his  ear. 
He  saw  a  black-hooded,  thick  figure  pass  him  and 
rush  towards  the  dai's. 

In  the  hands  of  this  figure  was  a  long  pair  of 
blacksmith's  pincers,  and  at  the  end  of  the  pincers 
was  a  shoe  of  white-hot  metal. 


3i8  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

There  was  another  loud  shout,  a  broad  band 
of  white  light,  as  the  mass  of  glowing  metal  shot 
through  the  air  in  a  hissing  arc,  and  then  the  face 
of  the  Inquisitor  disappeared  and  was  no  more. 

At  that  moment  both  Commendone  and  the 
sworn  torturer  realised  what  had  happened.  They 
leapt  nimbly  on  to  the  dais.  From  under  his  robe 
Alonso  took  a  stiletto  and  plunged  it  into  the  throat 
of  the  notary;  while  Johnnie,  in  a  mad  fury,  caught 
the  physician  by  the  neck,  placed  his  open  hand 
upon  the  man's  chin,  and  bent  his  head  back, 
slowly,  steadily,  and  with  terrible  pressure,  until 
there  was  a  faint  click,  and  the  black-robed  figure 
sank  down. 

The  trampezo  was  burning  into  the  wooden  floor 
of  the  dai's.  Alonso  ran  back  into  the  room,  caught 
up  a  pail  of  water,  and  poured  it  upon  the  gather- 
ing flames.  There  was  a  hiss,  and  a  column  of 
steam  rose  up  into  the  alcove. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  the  motionless 
form  of  the  Inquisitor.  The  face  was  all  black  and 
red,  and  rising  into  white  blisters. 

He  turned  to  Commendone.  "  He's  dead,  or 
dying,"  he  said,  "  and  now,  thou  hast  indeed  cast 
the  die,  and  all  is  over.  Thy  man  hath  spoilt  it 
all,  and  nothing  remains  for  us  but  death." 

"  Silence !  "  Johnnie  answered,  captain  of  him- 
self now,  and  of  all  of  them  there.  "  How  is  the 
next  prisoner  to  be  summoned?" 

The  torturer  understood  him.  "  Why,"  he  said, 
"  we  may  yet  save  ourselves  I — that  bell  there  " — 


"TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM  "       319 

he  pointed  to  a  hanging  cord.  "  That  summons 
the  jailors.  They  are  waiting  to  bring  the  Senorita 
for  judgment.  Don  Luis,  there,  who  was  to  undergo 
the  trampezo,  would  not  have  been  taken  back  into 
the  prison  at  once,  but  into  our  room,  where  the 
surgeon  would  have  attended  him.  Therefore,  we 
will  ring  for  the  Senorita.  She  will  be  pushed  into 
this  place  very  gently.  The  door  will  not  be  opened 
wide.  Doors  are  never  widely  opened  in  the  Holy 
Office.  The  jailors  will  see  us  taking  charge  of  her, 
and  all  will  be  well.  If  not,  get  your  poignard 
ready,  Senor,  and  you,  too,  Juan,  for  'twill  be  better 
to  die  a  fighting  death  in  this  cellar  than  to  wait  for 
what  would  come  hereafter." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  pulled  down  the 
bell-cord. 

They  stood  waiting  in  absolute  silence,  Alonso 
and  John  Hull,  in  their  dreadful  disguise,  standing 
close  to  the  door. 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  brilliantly  lit  room. 
The  victim  that  was  to  be  had  fainted  away,  and 
lay  as  dead  as  the  three  corpses  upon  the  dais. 
There  was  a  smell  of  hot  coal,  of  burning  wood, 
and  still  there  came  a  little  sizzling  noise  from  the 
half-quenched  glowing  iron  upon  the  platform. 

Thud! 

A  quiet  answering  knock  from  Alonso.  Another 
thud — the  heave  of  the  lever,  the  slither  of  the 
bolts,  the  door  opening  a  little,  murmured  voices, 
and  a  low,  shuddering  cry  of  horror,  as  a  tall  girl, 
in  a  long  woollen  garment,  a  coarse  garment  of 


320  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

wool  dyed  yellow,  was  pushed  into  the  embrace 
of  the  black-hooded  figures  who  stood  waiting  for 
her. 

Clang — the  bolts  were  shot  back. 

Then  a  tearing,  ripping  noise,  as  Hull  pulled 
the  black  hood  from  his  face  and  shoulders. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  he  cried,  "  Miss  Lizzie. 
'Tis  over  now.  Fear  nothing!  I  and  thy  true 
love  have  brought  thee  to  safety." 

The  girl  gave  a  great  cry.  "  Johnnie ! 
Johnnie!" 

He  rushed  up  to  her,  and  held  her  in  his  arms. 
He  was  still  clothed  in  the  dreadful  disguise  of  a 
torturer.  It  had  not  come  into  his  mind  to  take  it 
off.  But  she  was  not  frightened.  She  knew  his 
arms,  she  heard  his  voice,  she  sank  fainting  upon 
his  shoulder. 


Once  more  it  was  John  Hull  speaking  in  Eng- 
lish who  brought  the  lovers  to  realisation.  His 
strong  and  anxious  voice  was  seconded  by  the  Span- 
ish of  Alonso. 

"  Quick !  quick !  "  both  the  men  said.  "  All  hath 
gone  well.  We  have  a  start  of  many  hours,  but 
we  must  be  gone  from  here  at  once." 

Johnnie  released  Elizabeth  from  his  arms,  and 
then  he  also  doffed  the  terror-inspiring  costume 
which  he  wore. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  go  you  with  John  Hull 
and  this  Alonso  into  the  room  beyond,  where  they 


"TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM  "       321 

will  give  you  robes  to  wear.  I  will  join  you  in  less 
than  a  minute." 

They  passed  away  with  quick,  frightened  foot- 
steps. 

But  as  for  Commendone,  he  went  to  the  centre 
of  the  alcove,  and  knelt  down  just  below  the  long 
black  table. 

The  three  bodies  of  the  men  they  had  slain  he 
could  not  see.  He  could  only  see  the  black  form  of 
the  tablecloth,  and  above  it  the  great  white 
Crucifix. 

He  prayed  that  nothing  he  had  done  upon  this 
night  should  stain  his  soul,  that  Jesus — as  indeed 
he  believed— had  been  looking  on  him  and  all  that 
he  did,  with  help  and  favour. 

And  once  more  he  renewed  his  vow  to  live  for 
Jesus  and  for  the  girl  he  loved. 

Crossing  himself,  he  rose,  and  clapped  his  hands 
to  his  right  side.  Once  more  he  found  he  was 
without  a  sword.  He  bowed  again  to  the  cross. 
"  It  will  come  back  to  me,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet 
voice. 

He  turned  to  go,  he  had  no  concern  with  those 
who  lay  dead  above  him;  but  as  he  went  towards 
the  door  leading  to  the  place  of  the  torturers,  his 
eye  fell  upon  the  oak  stool  in  the  middle  of  the 
room — the  oak  chair  by  which  the  brazier  still 
glowed,  and  in  which  a  silent,  doll-like  figure  was 
bound. 

He  stepped  up  to  the  chair,  and  immediately  he 
saw  that  Don  Luis  was  dead. 


322  HOUSE  OF  TORMENT 

The  shock  had  killed  him.  He  lay  back  there 
with  patches  of  grey  marked  in  his  hair,  as  if 
fingers  had  been  placed  upon  it — a  young  face,  now 
prematurely  old,  and  writhed  into  horror,  but  with 
a  little  quiet  smile  of  satisfaction  upon  it  after 
all. 


And  so  they  sailed  away  to  the  Court  of  Rome, 
to  take  a  high  part  in  what  went  forward  in  the 
palace  of  the  Vatican.  They  were  to  be  fused  into 
that  wonderful  revival  of  Learning  and  the  Arts 
known  as  the  Renaissance. 

God  willing,  and  still  seeing  fit  to  give  strength 
to  the  hand  and  mind  of  the  present  chronicler, 
what  they  did  in  Rome,  all  that  befell  them  there, 
and  of  Johnnie's  friendship  and  adventures  with 
Messer  Benvenuto  Cellini  will  be  duly  set  out  in 
another  volume  during  the  year  of  Grace  to  come. 

Et  veniam  pro  laude  peto:  laudatus  abunde 

Non  fastiditus  si  tibi,  lector,  ero. 


FINIS 


A     000177909     9 


